The Quest for Immortality
by Jenn319
Summary: Harry is led back to a clearing on the edge of the Forbidden forest to save his friends and defeat the Dark Lord. But can it be done? Or will the young wizard discover that the one person he may need to protect them from the most is...himself?
1. Memories of a Severed Soul

Slowly, Harry entered the clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his wand at the ready. _For all the good it'll do,_ he thought to himself. After all, their wands proved absolutely useless against one another the last time he and Voldemort faced off in the cemetery before Tom Riddle's grave. _"Priori Incantatem,"_ were the words that Dumbledore had used that night in his office, following Harry's safe return to the school grounds with the Triwizard Cup and a very lifeless Cedric Diggory in hand. The Reverse Spell Effect, as Sirius later referred to it, in essence explained the outcome when the two wands - each sharing the same core - had been forced to do battle with one another. Harry could still recall how his own wand forced Voldemort's to regurgitate the previous spells it had performed. The last victims protruded from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand in a ghostly fashion: first Cedric, then the old man, followed by Bertha Jorkins and finally Harry's own parents. They spoke words of encouragement to Harry and in the end aided in his narrow escape.

_But that was years ago,_ Harry reminded himself now and he cautiously looked about the forest. _Before_ Sirius' death and the duel at the Ministry of Magic; _before_ Draco Malfoy's betrayal and Dumbledore's untimely demise at the hands of Professor Snape. Too much had transpired since that night in the cemetery for Harry to think, to even hope, that Voldemort would fight with anything as irrelevant as his wand. For Harry knew that whatever means Voldemort chose to use now, would surely be far worse.

"Ah, we've been expecting you Harry."

The sound of Voldemort's voice from behind sent a chill cascading down Harry's spine – as it always did. Harry stiffened at the back, cautiously looked over his right shoulder and turned to face the Dark Lord. Staring back at him were those same scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes that Harry had seen that night in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. They blazed beneath a pair of pale eyelids, mirthless and cold.

_"We?"_ Harry replied, somewhat puzzled and he quickly scanned the area around them once more; there was no one else within sight.

"Why, yes…" responded Voldemort with a slight wave of his hand, as though the answer had been right in front of Harry the entire time.

And suddenly…it was. Drifting out of the shadows to Harry's left were Ron and Hermione bound, disheveled and somewhat bloody. It was obvious that they had put up quite a fight. They stood there before Harry gagged and unable to move. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle stood silently behind them with their wands poised and annoyingly smug expressions upon their faces that Harry would have liked to remove with force. However, _that_ was exactly what Voldemort would want him to do, to act on his emotions. No matter how disconcerting the situation was, Harry knew that the circumstances could have been far worse.

In the span of time it took Harry to breathe, he found out just how much worse, it actually could be; Ginny now stood directly in front of him. She was not bound and gagged, like the others, but enveloped by the arms of none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry felt his pulse quicken. His first instinct was to go to her, to make sure she was all right; but, he didn't dare.

"I thought this was between us?" Harry replied and he steadied himself, as he once again addressed the Dark Lord.

"Oh, I assure you it is," responded Voldemort.

"Then why not let them go?" Harry added and he motioned to the captives before him.

"Come now, surely you would agree _that_ would be rather foolish on my part," Voldemort replied with an air of delight at what he had obviously deemed a most ridiculous request. "No, they are far more valuable to me right where they are. But I give you my word, once they outlive their usefulness they will be disposed of properly."

Hearing the implication in the Dark Lord's voice, Ron's eyes widened and a look of astonishment flashed across his face. Harry knew the look well, for it was the same one Ron always gave when confronted with something that unnerved him, usually followed by a loud gulping sound in the back of his throat as he swallowed. Unable to do so because of the gag lying in his mouth, Ron simply turned towards Hermione, whose steely façade only managed to slightly mask a small shudder.

"Well then, at the very least, why not release the Weasley girl?" Harry boldly pointed out. His eyes drifted towards Ginny. "After all, she has absolutely nothing to do with any of this."

Harry prayed that he was not being as transparent as he felt. If he could only convince Voldemort of his indifference toward Ginny, then maybe, just maybe he could also convince the Dark Lord to let her go. Voldemort stared at Harry for a moment, pulling methodically at his chin as though he might actually be contemplating the request with some civility, before extending his view past Harry, to Draco Malfoy standing just beyond.

"What do you think, Draco?" asked Voldemort teasingly. "Should we release the Weasley girl, then?" 

"No, I don't suppose that we shall," Malfoy answered and the devilish grin upon his face told Harry, in no uncertain terms, that Malfoy was not about to give Harry anything that he wanted.

"As a matter of fact, I've grown quite fond of this one…" Malfoy added. He held Ginny with one arm firmly around her waist. His other hand forcefully gripped her chin. She tried desperately to look away from him, recoiling from his touch as though she would sooner have spiders swarm upon her body than to allow a single fingertip of Malfoy's to touch her.

"Even if she is a _Weasley_," Malfoy scoffed. "I mean, after all, she is a Pureblood." Giving Harry a hard, cold stare, Draco leaned in closer to Ginny's neck and took in her scent.

"Get your damn hands off of her Malfoy!" demanded Harry. "Now!"

Harry shook with hatred and malice. He knew that he could withstand most anything, Ron and Hermione being held captive, even fighting Voldemort to the death, but not Malfoy's hands on Ginny.

"My, my Harry," came the cool, velvety voice of Lord Voldemort from behind. "So passionate you are about a girl that, up until this very moment…you'd have had me believe you couldn't care less about."

There was no denying it now, thought Harry and he looked at Ginny almost as if to say how truly sorry he was for not being stronger, for not having the better sense to keep his mouth shut and his feelings in check. Now, everything he had done in the last year to protect her: breaking off their relationship, keeping her at arms length, refusing her help; it was all for nothing.

"Down, Draco," Voldemort playfully commanded as Malfoy sneered the same self-satisfied expression as his two brainless counterparts, Crabbe and Goyle, had done earlier.

"All in good time," the Dark Lord added indicating that he fully intended on letting Malfoy do whatever he wanted with Ginny when the time was right.

"Is that fear I sense in you, Harry?" The words dripped off of Voldemort's tongue like venom. "You would be wise to be fearful," he added circling Harry now like a shark to its prey.

Harry tried to remain steady on his feet. He did his best to maintain a safe distance between himself and Voldemort, but kept a close eye as well; dawn was breaking in the sky above.

"Don't you know by now, foolish boy, that you can never beat me?" Voldemort mused with a hint of laughter. "You have no idea the lengths I have gone through to obtain immortality."

"Don't I?" Harry heard himself respond. He knew only too well indeed, for he had just spent the last year of his life seeking out and destroying each of those lengths, one by one. "You're speaking of your precious Horcruxes."

"Very good," Voldemort replied with mock admiration. "I see you've been doing your homework," he added, amusedly.

"Oh, I've been doing more than that," replied Harry in his own glib, self-serving way. "And if you had done _yours_," he quickly pointed out, "you would already know that they've all been destroyed."

Surely, Harry thought, this news would come as a nasty shock to Voldemort. It would infuriate him, maybe even drive him further into madness. But instead, the Dark Lord just stood there looking at him as though he were slightly more interested in choosing his words carefully.

"Have you?" Voldemort finally replied quite calmly, much to Harry's surprise. "You're sure of that, are you?"

The Dark Lord's cold, calculating eyes penetrated directly into Harry's own as he spoke, causing Harry to slightly flinch with his own thoughts of self-doubt. Of course he was, thought Harry. All of them had been found and destroyed either by himself or someone else. Or had they?

Harry felt a sense of dread overwhelm his insides. He questioned what he had assumed all along to be the truth. Is it possible that they missed something? he wondered. No, they couldn't have, Harry thought, quickly shaking the notion from his head. After all, they had taken painstaking measures to ensure that they had accurately located and effectively destroyed all of them. It seemed inconceivable to him now that they may have missed one.

Harry strengthened his resolve.

_This is just Voldemort's way of trying to throw me off,_ he assumed. _But still, if I'm right,_ why wasn't Voldemort furious or even, at the very least, desperate to protect the only portion of his soul left – that which resided within himself.

"Suddenly, you're not so sure," mimicked the Dark Lord as though he had clearly read Harry's mind. "Are you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you Voldemort?" retorted Harry, "for me to doubt myself?"

"I daresay, you would be much too proud to admit it," Voldemort scolded. "Even if it were true. So, I'll tell you what we'll do Harry," the Dark Lord spoke as if he was always inclined to do the young wizard a favor. "Let's retrace your steps, shall we?"

With his intensely white skull held high, Lord Voldemort strutted before Harry and his flowing black robe trailed obediently at his feet.

"As I am sure you are already aware," the Dark Lord noted, "I successfully split my soul seven ways and concealed them in seven different objects or _Horcruxes_ as you have already referred to them."

Taking a slight breath more for affect than anything else, Voldemort carried on.

"The first object was of course…"

"The diary," Harry spouted, cutting off the Dark Lord.

"Correct," replied Voldemort without as much as a look in Harry's general direction. "Yes, the diary. The place where I had perfectly preserved my sixteen year old self for nearly fifty years. That is," he added bitingly, "until you saw fit to drive the basilisk's tooth through it, utterly destroying the diary and one-seventh of my soul in the process."

Harry couldn't help but take a bit of pride in that particular triumph. He recalled the details in his mind.

"Which, by the way," admitted Voldemort and he came to a halt in front of the young wizard, "was _most_ painful to hear about. I don't think I ever properly paid you back for that one, Harry."

And before Harry even had a chance to react, Voldemort cast his first curse; silent and unexpected, he simply raised his wand. But instead of hitting Harry squarely in the chest, the curse sailed directly over his right shoulder striking Ron.

Ron's body writhed and contorted with pain, his muffled screams barely audible behind the wad of material that had been shoved deeply into his mouth. Harry watched as Ron's knees buckled. He dropped to the ground, and the bindings wrapped around his body constricted his every move.

_He's nothing more than a sitting duck,_ thought Harry, _just lying there waiting for the next strike and praying that it would never come_.

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. Harry was sure that she too had screamed out at the horror in front of her - her voice equally stifled by the gag sitting in her own mouth.

Behind him, Harry heard Ginny screaming Ron's name repeatedly with some effort as she fought against Malfoy's stronghold. Harry quickly raised his wand to retaliate, but as he turned back to the place where Voldemort had been standing, he found that the Dark Lord had now moved to within inches of Ginny. His pale, white, bony finger gently caressed her cheek.

"I would rethink that, if I were you," cautioned the Dark Lord.

Harry lowered his wand.

Footnote:

"Priori Incantatem" Page 697, Goblet of Fire


	2. Truth and Consequences

The early morning air felt cool and damp. A faint scent of rain lingered and the forest, blanketed by a drab shade of gray, was drained of its natural greenish hue. In the distance, the shrill cry of a crow rang out. Casting its lustrous black frame into the sky, the bird streaked across a radiant, thin line where the sun valiantly tried to bypass the gloominess of the day. Circling the clearing a few times, the bird settled itself upon a nearby branch.

Harry's feet stood firmly upon moist ground and a trace of mist hovered just above them where daylight burned away the nightly dew. Gripping his wand firmly at his side, Harry's frustration showed with the whitening of his knuckles along the back of his hand.

Ron remained bent over on the ground, inhaling heavily, his nostrils and chest heaving. Harry watched him wince and yearned for the pain to dissipate. Momentarily forgetting about her own bindings, Hermione stooped over to help. She struggled in vain to reach Ron and was promptly rewarded for her efforts by a sharp jab between the ribs with the tip of Gregory Goyle's wand. Hermione sneered indignantly at him. She then returned her fretful gaze toward Ron.

"Now, where were we?" Voldemort continued on and he sauntered away from Ginny as though they had only been slightly interrupted.

Ginny expelled the deep breath that she was holding. Her petit frame deflated into Malfoy's arms, and quickly regaining her composure, she shrugged him off.

"Ah, yes…next would have been my grandfather's ring. One of my more _sentimental_ objects," the Dark Lord mused knowing full well the irony in his words. "A fine piece, if I do say so myself. But then I don't suppose that I can hold you accountable for the loss of that particular Horcrux, now can I Harry? No, that blame lies solely with Dumbledore."

Harry felt a lump settle in his throat at the mere mention of Dumbledore's name. He could still recall the blackened, burned hand that the Headmaster sustained after he destroyed Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Remembering the story of how Dumbledore had stumbled upon it in the wreckage of the Gaunt home, Harry called to mind how the Headmaster utilized his exceptional skill to break the powerful enchantments protecting it.

Suddenly, Harry's mind flashed to the white tomb where Dumbledore's body lay on the school grounds and the lump in his throat gave way to the sound of his heart now pulsating in his ears – a sure sign that his blood pressure was on the rise.

_How dare Voldemort even speak his name,_ loathed Harry.

"But lucky for us," the Dark Lord persisted, his words sharpened, "he got exactly what he deserved in the end!"

_"Crucio!"_ Harry bellowed, pointing his wand directly at Lord Voldemort, without concern for the consequences of his actions. He wanted Voldemort to know what it meant to feel real pain.

But as the jet of red light blasted from the tip of his wand toward the Dark Lord, Harry felt his body jerk violently backwards. His eyes suddenly shifted and his feet left the ground. Harry's mind tried to register what was happening and quickly caught on; thrown harshly up against a tree, the back of his head made contact with the trunk and slammed brutally against it. His own curse ran askew, just shy of Voldemort's shoulder.

Harry hit the ground with a dull thud and tried desperately to catch his breath, his head throbbing.

"Now look what I've done," the Dark Lord responded with ill sincerity. "I've offended you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle sniggered. They made eye contact with one another and turned their sights back onto Harry, who staggered to his feet. With determination blazing in his eyes, Harry quickly brandished his wand. 

_"Impedimenta!"_ Harry roared defiantly.

A second jet of red light issued forth from his wand. It sailed at the Dark Lord. Voldemort raised his hand outward and deflected the curse with a confident snap of the wrist. The wand in his other hand quickly responded with a curse of its own. Pointing it toward a deadened tree limb hanging high above the young wizard's head, Voldemort severed the piece from its trunk. It plummeted towards Harry.

_"Immobulus!"_ Harry commanded. He drew his wand upward at the thick, heavy limb whose jetting branches and leaves had long since died off.

Harry hit the bough head on with his spell and his confidence quickly turned to confusion. The limb continued to fall towards him. He could feel the rush of wind just above his head, parting his black, unruly hair as the limb plunged downward with alarming speed. Why hadn't the spell worked? He wondered, knowing that there was no time to find the answer and even less to cast another spell. Panic settled in the center of Harry's chest and reason escaped him. Diving out of the way with the reflexes born of a true Quidditch player, Harry's body hit the ground and the smell of dirt filled his nostrils.

"Harry, watch out!" Ginny cried. Hermione's wide eyes and garbled words conveyed the same.

Glimpsing Ginny, Harry spied Draco Malfoy. He stood with his wand extended out towards the limb, and gripping Ginny in the crux of his free arm, firmly clasped his hand over her mouth. Harry quickly rolled over and cast his sights upward. He watched the wood divert from its natural course and swing over him. Continuing its descent and pursuing Harry like the rogue bludger he had once encountered on the Quidditch Pitch, the limb plunged towards him. Harry tossed himself onto his stomach and threw his arms over his head to soften the blow. With his eyes shut tight, Harry braced himself for the impact that he believed now to be inevitable and then suddenly…there was nothing: no rush of wind, no crushing blow, not even the slightest bump on the head.

Harry opened his eyes, cautiously lowered his arms and looked up. The limb dangled just a few inches from his head. Harry exhaled, and rolling out from under the limb, got to his feet. He eyed Malfoy - who was now clutching Ginny with his opposite arm and nursing a badly wounded finger from where she had bitten him, interrupting his spell. Harry glanced at Ginny. He extended a simple look of thanks that was promptly returned with a rather smug smile from her freckled face.

"That was a close one, wasn't it Harry?" responded Voldemort. "You really should be more careful."

"So should you," Harry replied under his breath and he felt the heat of anger rise up the back of his neck. Forcefully, he cast the limb at the Dark Lord without hesitation.

The barren piece of timber flew at Voldemort like a battering ram storming a castle. It nearly struck his chalk white skull. Quickly disappearing beneath a tornado of robe, the Dark Lord spun out of the way.

_"Serpensortia!"_ he bellowed and sent the wood beam hurtling back towards Harry.

The limb soared across the clearing; pieces of its thick, coarse bark shedded to reveal the scaly, black body of a snake emerging from beneath it. The snake dropped to the ground and its tapered body whipped back and forth before Harry.

_"Engorgio!"_ shouted the Dark Lord and instantly the snake swelled to three times its normal size.

It towered over Harry and bolted towards him with the speed of a wild cat. Coiling itself around his body, the snake pinned Harry's arms firmly to his sides. Its lifeless eyes looked down upon the young wizard, fangs bared and poised to strike. Harry felt the snake's elongated body slowly tighten around him. He wrenched, trying desperately to loosen the serpent's grip. Harry twisted and turned, but to no avail. Struggling to catch his breath, he heard the bone crushing sound of his spine compress beneath the snake's body. It was squeezing the very life out of him, thought Harry.

Sweat poured down his distorted face and looking up, Harry saw the blurred outline of the hovering serpent. Completely unaware of his own lightheadedness and thinking that his glasses must have slid off of his face, Harry tried to focus on the snake drifting in and out of view. It hissed at him and swayed hypnotically back and forth, causing Harry to feel slightly nauseous. From behind, he heard the faint sound of Ginny's voice urging him on and her words mingled with another sound – an all too familiar one, thought Harry. It was the whispery voice of Lord Voldemort and he was speaking Parseltongue.

Harry felt the snake tighten its grip. He drew in one last breath, and forcefully expelled his shallow, weak voice out into the air. Harry told the snake to let him go. The serpent narrowed its beady eyes, and tilting its head towards Harry as if it were listening, slowly loosened its grip. Harry took in his first deep breath and the high-pitched shriek of Lord Voldemort's voice resonated again. He commanded the snake to squeeze Harry even harder this time. The snake abided and began to apply pressure, only to halt when Harry spoke to it again. Confused and unsure on how to proceed, the serpent looked at Voldemort and then at Harry, its grip loosening as the two wizards continued to hurl orders at it.

Harry felt the blood rush back through his extremities. Able to flex the hand now holding his wand, he subtly pointed it towards the body of the snake.

_"Reducio!"_ yelled Harry.

The snake immediately shrank to its normal size, fell away from his body and hit the ground. Wielding his wand and casting a second spell, Harry glimpsed the snake coil up before him and dissolve into kindling. 

"Impressive," Voldemort replied, sounding anything but.

"Well, let's not forget that I do have some experience when it comes to snakes," answered Harry. "After all, I managed to destroy Nagini."

"Yes, dear, sweet Nagini," reflected Lord Voldemort. "That was, perhaps the hardest loss to take._ Some,_ would have advised against using an animal to contain something as precious as a portion of my soul, with their ability to exert, a certain level of control over themselves. But it was different with Nagini."

A faint smile crossed over the Dark Lord's face, the same endearing smile that one might wear while reminiscing about an old friend. Harry knew that had he not seen it for himself, he would have never believed it; Voldemort looked as though he had actually _cared_ about the snake.

"See, Nagini was quite happy to do my bidding in exchange for the freedom it gave her…" explained the Dark Lord. "She was born into captivity, something that gave me an enormous amount of control over her, simply because she never knew any other way to live." 

Harry's thoughts drifted again to Dumbledore.

_"I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything,"_ the Headmaster had once said of Voldemort's relationship with the snake._ "And he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."_

"Ours was a chance meeting," Voldemort continued on. "Quite by accident, I assure you. She had escaped from a local zoo."

Harry, who up and until that point had been far more concerned with catching his breath, suddenly took notice of what was being said.

"Yes," Voldemort confirmed, and he looked Harry in the eye. "A zoo. Not too far, in fact, Harry, from where your aunt and uncle live."

Harry went cold inside and his mind flashed back to that day in the zoo with his cousin, Dudley.

_It had been Dudley's birthday and Harry had scored the chance to tag along for the celebration. No sooner had they entered the reptile house than his spoiled-rotten cousin had set to task annoying a rather large Boa Constrictor asleep in its habitat behind the glass, demanding that someone make it move if only for the sheer purpose of entertaining Dudley. The snake had opened its small, round eyes and winked at Harry, after the rest of his family had shuffled off, bored with the creature. They were enjoying a delightful conversation with one another until Dudley had caught sight of the snake moving, plowed into Harry, punched him in the ribs, and knocked him to the floor. Suddenly, the glass barrier had vanished and the snake – taking full advantage of the situation – quickly uncoiled itself. It slithered its way onto the cold cement floor, past Harry and out the door._

Harry always just assumed that the zookeeper had managed to recapture the snake. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this.

"Funny, wouldn't you say, Harry?" the Dark Lord observed somewhat stingingly. "How sometimes the things we do, that may seem so inconsequential at the time…come back to haunt us later?"

Heaviness lingered in Harry's chest and the full impact of Lord Voldemort's words washed over him; he knew that he was feeling the weight of his actions.

_He_ set Nagini free. _He_ sat by and watched the snake escape. And, _he_ was ultimately responsible for it finding its way to Voldemort.

"Nagini, as it turns out, came into my life at the _very_ moment that I needed her most," recalled the Dark Lord. "And, for that Harry, I thank you."

Ashamed and sickened by the results of his actions, Harry looked away. Yes, it was true that he had only been a boy at the time, a boy who until that point, hadn't even known about his powers. But somehow, this rationalization did very little to comfort him now.

"However, as you said, you are also the one ultimately responsible for destroying Nagini," Voldemort added, quickly getting back to the matter at hand. "And for that, you must pay."

Anticipating the Dark Lord's moves, Harry quickly raised his wand and prepared to do battle. Only this time, he watched as Voldemort's curse careened to his own far left striking the target that it had been intended for all along -- Hermione.

She whimpered just slightly, incapable of anything else really, as the curse struck her hard in the chest. Harry watched her crumple and fall to the ground beside Ron. At first she didn't move and Harry, fearing the very worse, started towards her. A wall of flames burst out in front of him. They blocked Harry's path.

The tips of the flames danced at eye level in front of Harry as he made out the crude, snake-like face of the Dark Lord staring back at him just on the other side with a look so definitive it chilled Harry to the bone. Oh yes, Voldemort was going to kill Harry, but only after Harry watched all of his friends die first.

Decisively, the Dark Lord waved his hand and the flames disappeared. In its wake, Harry heard Hermione's delicate cry. She lay folded in a heap on the ground before him. He thought that he had never heard anything so heartbreaking in all his life, as he watched Ron move slightly closer to comfort her as best he could.

Footnote:

"I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything…"Page 506, Half-Blood Prince

"And he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."Page 507, Half-Blood Prince


	3. Poised to Strike

Harry stood frozen in the middle of the clearing. The little voice in the back of his head told him to retaliate and to be quick about it. Yet somehow, he couldn't move. Drawn to Hermione's bent and twisted frame lying before him on the ground, Harry couldn't take his eyes off of her. With her keen intellect and unwavering loyalty, she was easily one of the strongest among them. Never one to cower in the face of danger or to go down without a proper fight, it unnerved Harry to his very core to see her lying there now without the slightest hint of fire.

Ron leaned in carefully towards Hermione, and peering around the thick, brown tresses that hung loosely down the sides of her face, made eye contact with her. Her complexion, quite gray and punctuated only by the bright red outline of her tear-stained eyes, highlighted her once delicate, pink lips, now rigid and pale. Ron gazed at her with uncertainty and raised brow. His expression kindly asked what his mouth was unable to say. He wanted to know if she was all right and yet the look in his eyes said much more than that. Gingerly, she nodded and a wave of relief washed over Ron's face. Hermione lifted her eyes towards Harry, and giving him a reassuring nod, slowly moved. Unaware that he'd even stopped breathing, Harry expelled a lungful of air and felt the tension ease out of his shoulders.

"How very touching," Voldemort responded disparagingly from across the clearing and the muscles in Harry's shoulders tightened again.

"It hurts, doesn't it Harry, to see the ones you love in pain?" observed the Dark Lord. "But then, that's the problem with love, isn't it? It makes you vulnerable…and weak."

"He's not weak!" Ginny willfully exclaimed. She kicked hard off of the ground, and thrashing about, tried to free herself from Malfoy's grip.

He struggled to contain her; Malfoy's twisted features and sweaty brow clearly reflecting his need to muster more strength than even he ever thought necessary. He grabbed her hard around the waist, and wrenching Ginny's body inward, forced her feet to the ground.

"You need to show a little more respect!" he reprimanded. Malfoy seized Ginny's wrists and pinned them harshly against her chest.

Harry gripped the wand firmly in his hand, his nostrils flaring. He eyed Malfoy with piercing anger. Ron tried fiercely to get to his feet, a flurry of garbled words bottlenecking behind the gag in his mouth. Getting to one knee, he took the swift kick of Vincent Crabbe's foot in his gut. Winded, Ron was sent toppling back down onto the ground.

Quite pleased with himself, Crabbe sniggered and Goyle gleefully joined in. They remained oblivious to Hermione's cold, hard stare that suddenly thawed as she caught sight of her and Ron's wands sticking out of the inside of their robes.

Harry raised his wand at Malfoy; Draco did the same and pointed it firmly at Ginny's temple as if to say to Harry, _"Try me."_ Harry loosened the grip slightly on his wand. He halted only a few inches away.

"What's the matter Harry? Feeling vulnerable?" the Dark Lord mused. "Or are you just weak?"

"Weak?" Harry spit back. "You're using my friends to get at me and _I'm_ the one who's weak? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid to face me alone."

"And there it is," proclaimed the Dark Lord, a slight smile crossing his wickedly pale face. "The infamous Potter bravado. You'll want to be careful with that Harry, as I recall, it has never served your family well."

Blistering anger scorched at Harry, engulfing his insides. The heat of it rose up the back of his neck and flushed across his face. Gripping his wand so firmly in his fist that he could have easily snapped it in half, Harry eyed Voldemort with contempt, fervently raised his wand, and unleashed another curse at the Dark Lord's head. Tilting his head audaciously to one side, the curse tore past Voldemort. With a swish of his own wand, he sent a wisp of green light at Harry that quickly lassoed itself around his legs. Sharply, Voldemort yanked at the wand in his hand. Harry felt his feet pull out from under him and his body hit the cold, hard ground.

"And it would be a mistake on your part," the Dark Lord noted, catching the fury in Harry's eyes, "to misread my methods as weakness…unless of course, you're in a hurry to watch your friends die?"

Reining in his temper for the moment, Harry looked at his three friends, thought better of it, and choked back his anger.

"Now, then…by my calculation, three remain," Voldemort resumed. He referred to the Horcruxes yet to be discussed. " And that would bring us to the Cup...my most interesting tale by far," the Dark Lord noted with undue pride, and he thundered arrogantly about. "It began with a most valuable piece of history that I had, shall we say, the good fortune of acquiring?"

"Don't you mean _stole_?" Harry accused bitingly. The stream of light wrapped around his legs dissolved into thin air.

"I prefer to think of it Harry, as a stroke of good luck," the Dark Lord cunningly replied.

"Tell that to Hepzibah Smith…" retorted Harry and he rose to his feet. "That's right," he added acknowledging the look of recognition in Voldemort's eyes. "I know you killed her and then conveniently vanished with the cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff and the golden locket that bore the mark of Slytherin."

"Well done, Harry," Voldemort spoke soberly, the hint of amusement no longer present behind his eyes."Dumbledore taught you well. Not that I would have expected anything less, mind you."

It was obvious, thought Harry that the tide was beginning to turn; Voldemort, no longer exhibited a droll sense of wit, but became more serious and subdued.

"So there you were, in possession of two objects that were going to further your quest for immortality," Harry added and he caught a glimpse of Ron and Hermione out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious that Hermione was trying to communicate something to Ron and he just wasn't getting it.

"But let me guess," Harry continued, prying his eyes away from them. "You decided that one of the objects – the Cup – would be of far greater use to you elsewhere. So, then you had to set to task finding another object," surmised Harry. "But not just _any_ object."

And Dumbledore's words jumped once again to the forefront of Harry's mind. _"Lord Voldemort liked to collect trophies "_, Dumbledore once said. _"…and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history…objects worthy of the honor."_

"That's when you approached Dumbledore about a teaching position at Hogwarts," Harry concluded and he watched Ron and Hermione exchange a knowing look with one another, and then with Ginny. "Not because you wanted a job, but because you wanted to get your hands on the sword of Godric Gryffindor. But when you saw just how well protected it was in Dumbledore's office, you decided to take the next best thing…the House Cup. The one object," Harry proclaimed, "that would have allowed one-seventh of your soul to remain in the only place you had ever truly known happiness or was able to call home. It would basically ensure that a piece of you would remain at Hogwarts forever."

"I would have expected better of you Harry!" the Dark Lord scathingly replied. "_You_, of all people, should have understood my need to remain here! After all, it is the only place that you, yourself, were able to call home as well!"

_Because of you_, Harry's insides screamed, for he knew that if it had not been for Voldemort, Harry's home – the only home – that he would have ever known would have been the one with his parents. But instead, Voldemort brutally murdered them and in so doing cast Harry into a lonely, loveless existence with the Dursley's, the years of which were now beginning to fester inside of Harry. All that he lost out on – all the joy and happiness of knowing his parents love firsthand – was ripped once more from his life, this time by Voldemort's callous and unfeeling words. He wanted to strike first, to cast the final blow against the Dark Lord at any cost. Harry raised his wand and prepared to do just that when he heard the purest, most tranquil sound; more beautiful than even the phoenix lament that Harry had heard that day in the hospital wing shortly after Dumbledore's death. It was the sound of Ginny's voice.

_"Harry…"_

His name was all she said, sounding neither fearful nor disapproving; just a familiar, safe voice breaking through the static clamoring in his head and pulling him back from the edge. Harry's eyes drifted from Voldemort to Ginny, where she stood, still cloaked in Malfoy's arms, a look upon her face as if to say, "_do it if you must, but not on his terms." _

Harry lowered his wand and from behind heard a distant murmur. Just above a whisper, it was even and steady. It grew in intensity, reaching a fevered pitch before becoming shrill and piercing. Voldemort was laughing at him.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked weary of the disruption.

"Oh Harry, I can only assume by your actions that you are either unwilling to fight because of your allegiance to this young girl…" Voldemort chortled, haphazardly motioning towards Ginny. "Or because you sincerely doubt whether you have, in fact, destroyed all of the Horcruxes. So, tell me Harry…which is it?"

Harry stared at the Dark Lord for a moment, carefully choosing his words. While it was true that he felt a certain loyalty towards Ginny, Harry also knew that she had never once asked him not to fight. She was, quite simply, not selfish enough to expect anything less of him even if, deep down inside, she truly wished for things to be different. Of the Horcruxes, though, Harry could no longer be sure.

"Don't bother to answer," Voldemort replied in a rather dismissive tone. "I can see the flicker of doubt in your eyes."

"Maybe it's you, who's not so sure," answered Harry.

And like that, it hit him. The reason that Voldemort was so interested in retracing Harry's steps was because the Dark Lord was hoping that he had missed the most valuable Horcrux of all – the locket; the one piece that had been well insulated and more protected than any other. Harry recalled how he and Dumbledore had found it and his mind flashed back to that night in the cave.

_They made their way along the jagged cliffs and came upon the icy, cold water where the fissures in the rock formed a tunnel leading into the cave. Passing through the antechamber and into the inner place where the great black lake sat, they traveled through a steady stream of Inferi, making their way to the island in the middle that housed the locket. Dumbledore drank from the basin lying there; an act that had ultimately allowed them to retrieve the locket resting at the bottom of it. Upon returning to Hogwarts, their triumph in acquiring yet another piece of Voldemort's soul was then tragically cut short by the Dark Mark lingering precariously above the school as they arrived._

All of it led up to the unspeakable nightmare that managed to replay in Harry's mind every day since – Dumbledore's death. The image was frozen in Harry's mind, as if he were still beneath the Invisibility Cloak watching Professor Snape inflict the Killing Curse on his Headmaster and friend.

One of the hardest parts to accept that night, recalled Harry, came after Dumbledore's death and the ensuing battle with the Death Eaters. 

_Kneeling beside Dumbledore's discarded body on the front lawn of the school, Harry stumbled upon the locket they retrieved earlier that night in the cave. Having fallen from the Headmaster's pocket it lay open on the ground and it was then that Harry discovered the awful truth…that the locket was, in fact, a fake._

This memory haunted him, almost as much – if not more – than that of Dumbledore's death because it was Harry who forced Dumbledore to drink from the basin in the cave, an act that surely left the Headmaster weak and most likely unable to fight when he needed to most. Regardless of the fact that Dumbledore ordered him to do so, Harry could never quite shake the guilt he felt over what he'd done. Perhaps that is why he continued to carry the fake locket around with him, as a reminder, even now.

"Well, I guess there is only one way to know for sure," Voldemort replied, and he called the young wizard's bluff. "Tell me about the last two Horcruxes."

"You mean, tell you about the locket," Harry trumped, for he knew that this was burning foremost in the Dark Lord's mind. "It meant a great deal to you, didn't it…_Tom_?" Harry boldly asked. The Dark Lord hissed, his scarlet eyes growing redder. "Well, I imagine it would," he added. "I mean, not only was it a treasured family heirloom that bore the mark of Salazar Slytherin, but more importantly, it was the last connection you had to your _mother_."

The raw scent of electricity filled the air and a flash of green light rushed forth from the Dark Lord's wand. Grazing Harry's shoulder, the warning shot sailed past him and the visage of Voldemort's eyes told Harry to proceed with extreme caution.

"It must have been rather difficult," Harry continued, glimpsing slightly at the singed seam of his jacket. "Hearing Hepzibah Smith go on and on about how she paid an arm and a leg for it, knowing that your mother settled for so much less. Pity really," Harry added with a touch of genuine remorse in his voice, "the way Burke took advantage of your mother like that. I hear he only paid her ten Galleons for the locket."

The Dark Lord slashed his wand across the thin air lying between them and instantly Harry felt a sharp, stinging sensation burn across his face. It was as though he had been whipped. Harry flinched and quickly placed his hand to his face. His cheek felt warm and wet.

Withdrawing his hand slightly, Harry glimpsed at the crimson smear across his fingertips. He regarded Voldemort.

"But, in the end you made sure he paid," added Harry and he gazed at his bloody fingers again. "Didn't you?"

"Oh, yessss!" Voldemort spewed, his words sounding more snake-like all the time. "And the best part was that he never even saw it coming!" the Dark Lord rambled. He paced back and forth across the clearing like a caged animal. "No, he was too blinded by his own greed to notice when I slipped Helga Hufflepuff's Cup into his possession…something I knew he couldn't resist!"

Harry tenderly placed his hand against his face and spied Hermione again. She tried inconspicuously to gain his attention. Checking to be sure that the Dark Lord was none the wiser, Harry cautiously allowed his gaze to wander back towards her. Discreetly, she tilted her head towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were far too engrossed in the Dark Lord's words to notice, and directed Harry's eyes to the wands sticking out of their robes. Her own eyes, now expressive and wide signaled to the ropes binding her and Ron.

"So enthralled he was with the piece," Voldemort carried on and he savored every detail. "That I scarcely doubt he even realized that it was slowly pulling him into madness."

Harry nodded his head at Hermione. He shifted his gaze subtly towards Ginny, whose own eyes motioned towards Draco. Realizing that she had a plan of her own, Harry surveyed Malfoy who, paying considerable attention to the Dark Lord and quite unaware of what was about to come, absent-mindedly loosened his grip on Ginny's wrists.

"So you added your own curse to the Cup before giving it to him," Harry cited and he fixed his eyes again upon the Dark Lord.

"Quite!" Voldemort sharply replied.

"And that's when you used the locket as a Horcrux," noted Harry.

"Harry…you're stalling," the Dark Lord replied. He eyed the young wizard shrewdly.

Harry's heart alarmingly skipped a beat. He was sure that he and his friends had been found out.

"You know very well that I used the locket for that purpose," Voldemort added, seemingly unaware of their plan and Harry sighed with relief.

"The question is, were you able to find it and destroy it?"

The doubt in Voldemort's eyes told Harry unequivocally that the Dark Lord thought not, suspecting instead that the young wizard was either too inexperienced in his knowledge of the Dark Arts to access the locket or simply not brave enough to wander into its cloister.

"You mean this?" Harry challenged, now drawing from his pocket the golden piece that he had carried with him since the day Dumbledore died.

The gloating smile displayed proudly upon Voldemort's face vanished.

"Give me that…" Voldemort demanded speaking in a slow, deliberate manner, which indicated that he was holding back an enormous cyclone of anger, but only just.

"Come and get it," Harry coaxed.

With that, Lord Voldemort flew at him malevolently. Harry grasped the locket firmly in the palm of his hand, dodged to his right, and hit the ground. Rolling onto his knees, he pointed his wand at Ron and Hermione. A jet of red light blasted towards them. Their cords split, dropping to the ground. Removing the gags and spinning on their heels, the two lurched towards Crabbe and Goyle for their exposed wands just as Ginny stomped on Malfoy's foot. She sent the tip of her elbow into his gut, and wrenching forward, he groaned. His face met the hard, round knuckles of Ginny's fist. Malfoy's nostrils gushed with blood.

Voldemort landed empty-handed, bellowed, and sent a wave of green light soaring at Harry. Flinging himself sideways, the curse just missed; Harry scrambled to his feet and quickly shot back a response. His spell sent the Dark Lord reeling backwards into a thicket.

_"Incarcerate!"_ Harry yelled, and the thick, dense undergrowth of sticks began to braid themselves like rope tightly around Voldemort's wrists and ankles.

Ron and Hermione snatched their wands. They faced off against Crabbe and Goyle who, stumbling backwards into one another, indiscriminately wielded curses at them. Weaving to her right, Hermione felt Goyle's curse zip past her head, fluttering her thick mane of hair and Ron ducked to avoid the curse Crabbe threw at him.

_"Stupefy!"_ Hermione yelled. She pointed her wand in retaliation at Goyle just as Ron aimed for Crabbe's legs.

Ron watched as the large oaf fell, accidentally bumping Goyle out of the way of Hermione's curse, on his way down. Slowly, Hermione turned her head towards Ron. She glared at him as if to say _"Ronald!"_ in that exasperated voice he had grown quite accustomed to hearing. He sheepishly looked away.

Meanwhile, Malfoy grabbed hold of Ginny's fiery red hair from behind and wrestled her to the ground. He straddled her torso, pinning her arms with his legs. Wiping away the excess blood dripping from his nose, Malfoy vindictively raised the back of his hand and smacked Ginny hard across the face.

Having witnessed his actions and red with anger, Ron started in hard towards Malfoy just as Crabbe and Goyle raised their wands again. 

_"Rictumsempra!"_ Goyle shouted aiming for Hermione as Crabbe yelled _"Tarantallegra!"_ at Ron.

Hermione caught sight of Goyle out of the corner of her eye and quickly ducked. The curse drifted over her head and struck Crabbe just as he was getting to his feet again. Falling hard on his butt, Crabbe howled with laughter and pointed at Ron whose legs, hit by the curse, jerked about uncontrollably beneath him. Trying desperately to rush to his sister's defense, Ron's legs carried him everywhere else.

Ginny winced. She tasted the hint of blood forming on the corner of her mouth and scowled at Malfoy, who evidently going too far this time, flinched.

The familiar sound of Malfoy's high-pitched scream suddenly echoed across the forest. Standing before the Dark Lord with his wand at the ready, Harry looked over his shoulder at them. Ginny, having used a nonverbal Levicorpus spell on Malfoy sent his body soaring high above the clearing. He dangled by one ankle in the air. With his platinum blond locks standing on end and the edges of his robe riding over his face, Malfoy flailed about, demanding in his most wimpish voice to be put right. Giny brushed away the dirt and got to her feet just as Crabbe took notice of Malfoy. He giggled hysterically at him.

Harry turned back towards Voldemort and the amused smile upon his face quickly faded. The Dark Lord cast off his wooden shackles.

_"Incendio!"_ Lord Voldemort cried and the pieces of wood burst into flames. They chased Harry like tongues of fire.

Turning away, Harry rolled onto his back. He swiftly conjured an extinguishing spell and the flames diminished into tiny droplets of water that rained down innocently upon him.

Curse after curse flew at Harry from the Dark Lord's wand. Digging his heels into the fresh dark loam, Harry pushed himself backwards on one elbow, and repelled the curses as he tried to get to his feet. He scrambled, the curses coming at him so hard and so fast, that Harry ran for cover. Following the young wizard with his lifeless eyes, Lord Voldemort directed another curse at Harry's back. It sailed at Harry, who stumbled upon an overgrown, moss covered stump. Nearly hitting him, the curse struck a gray boulder sitting nearby. A mixture of rock and debris exploded over Harry's head. He dashed past its remnants and found refuge behind a large tree. Out of breath and wincing slightly at the stitch that formed in his side, Harry waited.

"Give me the locket Harry," repeated Voldemort. _"Or she dies!"_

Standing with his back pressed firmly against the trunk of the tree, Harry stiffened. He felt the bark gouge deeply into his back. Cautiously, Harry glanced around the enormous trunk and saw his worst fear realized. Voldemort now had Ginny in his grasp.

Footnote:

"Lord Voldemort liked to collect trophies, and he preferred objects with a powerful magical history…"Page 504, Half-Blood Prince

"…objects worthy of the honor."Page 504, Half-Blood Prince


	4. R A B

Harry ducked back behind the tree, and swallowing hard, closed his eyes for a moment. His pulse raced and the horrifying vision of Ginny standing within Voldemort's grip overwhelmingly flooded his thoughts. Harry rested his head against the tree trunk, his breath heavy and uneven. He cast his eyes skyward and searched for what to do next. Patches of weak blue sky emerged to greet Harry from the parting cluster of clouds that had begun the day. He exhaled and felt the weight of the golden locket lying in the palm of his warm, moist hand. Harry unraveled his fingers and glanced down at it. The piece gleamed, casting a brilliant white reflection that playfully danced across his face. Thinking carefully, he closed his hand around the object again and stepped out from behind the tree.

"Good boy," responded Voldemort, his icy, cold fingers clenched firmly around Ginny's throat. "Now give me the locket."

Harry glanced at the Dark Lord and then at Ginny. His sights drifted to Ron and Hermione, who stood together unarmed. Ron's wobbly legs were now fully restored, as was Crabbe, who no longer giggled like a silly schoolgirl, but returned to his usual state of dimwittedness; the sound of Malfoy's whining voice rang out from where he still hung in mid-air. They had been caught off guard in the heat of their battle by Ginny's capture; Goyle, who quickly threatened bodily harm upon her if Ron did not follow suit, disarmed Hermione. Without hesitation, Ron threw away his wand. His worrisome gaze remained frozen now upon his sister and following his best friend's eyes, Harry fixed his own upon Ginny again. Her body trembled beneath the Dark Lord's touch. Harry peered at her and saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before: fear.

"Harry," the Dark Lord spoke over Malfoy's ongoing cries from above, "give me the locket."

"First, let her go," Harry insisted. He edged a bit closer and looked Voldemort sternly in the eye.

"Oh, Harry, do you _really_ want to play this little game with me?" asked Voldemort with a hint of exasperated amusement in his voice. 

Annoyed with Malfoy's persistent theatrics, the Dark Lord flicked his wand sharply at Draco. He sent the boy hurtling to the ground. Landing on his head, Malfoy cautiously looked up and righted himself. He rose slowly to his feet.

"I said, let her go," Harry demanded, the locket now dangling from his hand. He pointed the tip of his wand directly at it.

The serpentine face of Lord Voldemort stared at Harry from across the clearing, looking first into the young wizard's eyes and than to the locket.

"Your actions, however nobly misguided they may be, would be far more compelling," noted the Dark Lord, "if you actually had some power in this situation. But you do not. Lest you forget, _I_ am the one in control here..." Voldemort sneered at Harry viciously, "and I never negotiate."

Promptly, the Dark Lord aimed his wand at Ginny and struck her with the Cruciatus Curse. She let out the most bone-chilling, high-pitched scream that Harry had ever heard, and her body went rigid, shaking uncontrollably beneath the Dark Lord's grasp. Her beautiful chocolate brown eyes, that Harry had so often lost himself in, rolled violently into the back of her head and tears of anguish slipped down her tormented face.

"Ginny!" Ron cried out with terror and lunged towards her.

Crabbe grabbed hold of him, brusquely yanked Ron backwards, and tightened his grip on Hermione. She cupped her hands over her mouth and watched the horror in front of her unfold.

Eyes wide with astonishment, Harry dropped his hands to his sides and staggered backwards. He thought he knew exactly what Ginny was going through: the head-splitting pain, the feel of a thousand narrow blades piercing every inch of her skin, the torrid sensation of her bones on fire. He knew them all and vividly called to mind the way the Dark Lord had inflicted the very same curse upon him the night they fought in the cemetery. Only this time, thought Harry, what was happening to Ginny was his own fault.

"No! Stop!" shouted Harry. Tears formed in his eyes and he ached with guilt. "The locket…it's yours. Just stop!"

With pleasure in his hideous red eyes, the Dark Lord withdrew his wand. Ginny's body went limp and her head, bobbing loosely about, fell carelessly backwards.

"Now..." Voldemort replied, expectation ringing quite clearly in his words, "the locket!"

Harry threw it at Voldemort. It landed firmly in the palm of the Dark Lord's hand, and callously, he tossed Ginny aside like a rag doll. Catching her under the arms, Malfoy pulled the dead weight of Ginny's body upward and cradled her firmly around the waist; his own frightened expression now mirroring the uncertainty in his eyes.

Hermione placed a consoling hand upon Ron's shoulder. His breath flowed in labored squalls. Harry caught her eye. He stood alone across the clearing, his crest-fallen body quivering with turmoil. Frantically, he eyed Malfoy who was trying to prevent Ginny's flaccid body from slipping through his arms. Struggling to keep her upright, Draco lost his grip and she fell to one knee. He quickly stooped over to catch her before the rest of her body slid out from under him and from afar, Harry mimicked Malfoy's actions. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to wrap his arms around her, tell her how sorry he was, and that everything was going to be all right. But he couldn't and it was killing him.

Thoroughly enjoying Harry's pain, the Dark Lord leered at him and redirected his sights to the locket lying in the palm of his hand. Voldemort's triumph quickly turned to despair as he noticed, for the first time, that the piece looked absolutely nothing like the locket he remembered.

_"You!"_ Voldemort hissed at Harry. He squeezed the object tightly in his skeletal fist.

"No, sorry," Harry vehemently replied. He pried his eyes away from Ginny. "I can't take credit for this one. You see, Dumbledore and I _did_ find the cave and what we believed at the time to be the locket," Harry added, motioning to the fake now in Voldemort's hand. "Just like you though, we too were fooled. But by the time the truth was known, it was already too late…Dumbledore was dead."

Harry paused for a moment in reverence to his fallen friend.

"And all that was left was a small bit of parchment that had fallen out of the locket," he added. "A note addressed to you telling of how someone else had gotten to it first and destroyed it."

_"You're lying!"_ accused the Dark Lord.

"Well, it's easy enough to prove isn't it?" Harry boldly replied and he glanced back towards Ginny, who slightly opened her eyes. "All you have to do is open up the locket and read it for yourself."

Harry expected the Dark Lord to waste no time in doing just that, fully aware that once he did all hell was bound to break loose. But instead, Voldemort just stood there eyeing the locket in his hand.

"You do realize," Voldemort spoke agitatedly. "That it doesn't really matter, whether the contents of the real locket have been destroyed. By my count there is still one-seventh of my soul, aside from that which resides within me, out there…somewhere. You've only accounted for five of the Horcruxes thus far. What of the sixth?"

"Oh, that one was easy," Harry boasted, for he had simply stumbled upon it in his quest to locate the Cup. "Upon realizing that you didn't use Helga Hufflepuff's precious heirloom as a Horcrux," added Harry, "I successfully tracked it back to Caractacus Burke. When I got there I found Burke's widow on her deathbed. She was quite willing to share the story of how another object had seemingly vanished the night the Cup had appeared: a fine filigree pendant that had belonged to none other than Rowena Ravenclaw."

Harry could still recall how the widow had described the piece that adorned the founding witch's cloak. Rumored to be something she had never been seen without, it bore the Ravenclaw colors of blue and gold with a most impressive ornamental depiction of an eagle; a description that Harry later found lacking when faced with the actual beauty of the piece. The pendant was delicate but much heavier than it appeared. An intricate design of ornate golden threads cradled the raised illustration of a bronze eagle landing majestically upon a field of sapphire. An inlay of pearl surrounded it and it pained Harry to know its fate.

"It was only a matter of time," he noted, "before I found it _and_ destroyed it."

The Dark Lord regarded Harry with great intent and dropped his gaze to the locket in his hand. For a brief moment Harry thought he saw the edge of Voldemort's lip arc, almost as if the young wizard had just said something slightly funny. But when he looked again, all Harry saw were the same pale thin lips he had always seen, perhaps though a bit more indicative of Voldemort's true age. The Dark Lord reflected upon the locket, turning it over and over again in his hand.

"Well then," Voldemort responded and he held it up where they could both see it. "I suppose the time has come Harry, to find out whether or not you've been telling the truth."

With relative ease, the Dark Lord flicked open the locket and revealed the parchment from within. He edged the note out with his nimble fingers and allowed the golden piece to drop onto the ground as if it were the most worthless piece of rubbish he had ever seen. Holding the slip of parchment between his thumb and forefinger, Voldemort tilted his head slightly to one side and perused its message with less interest than Harry hoped.

"Tell me," Voldemort spoke and he turned the parchment over so that the words now faced the young wizard. "In all your travels, did you ever find out who _R.A.B._ was?"

"It was Regulus," Harry answered, reverting his attention back towards Ginny who slowly began to show signs of life again.

"Yes," the Dark Lord confirmed with disgust. "Regulus Arcturus Black…Sirius' foolish and much more naive younger brother. But it might interest you to know Harry, that it could have just as easily been my most loyal servant…Severus."

Harry shot a bewildered expression back at Voldemort. He stared at the Dark Lord cautiously.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" Voldemort responded. He witnessed the baffled look upon Harry's face. "And yet it really shouldn't, considering the fact that Severus was the only one aside from myself…and apparently Dumbledore, even capable of accessing the locket. After all Harry, it was he who created the liquid in which it swam."

Dumbfounded by what he heard, Harry hesitantly searched for truth in the Dark Lord's cold and pitiless glowing eyes.

"Oh yes," elaborated the Dark Lord and he took great pleasure in the boy's reaction. "Severus was the one who created the liquid that Dumbledore drank that night in the cave…always quite handy with his potions, that Severus."

Harry felt his insides scream. Not only had Snape inflicted the Killing Curse on Dumbledore, but he had effectively rendered him useless in his own defense with the liquid, a liquid that he, Harry, had _made_ Dumbledore drink. Harry felt the guilt rear its ugly head. It quickly rose again to the surface.

"But he wasn't your most loyal servant," was all Harry could think to say. "Was he?"

"Apparently not!" answered the Dark Lord, and crushing the piece of parchment in his hand, released it to the ground below.

Abandoned, it fell at Voldemort's feet. A late morning breeze carried off its crumpled remains and in its wake, Harry felt the warmth of the sun rest wearily upon his shoulders.

"But why?" Harry asked, almost mechanically. His mind reeled.

"Like me, Severus was quite good at holding a grudge," answered the Dark Lord. "I daresay he never really got over his own feelings of betrayal."

"But if he was _that_ loyal," Harry quickly pointed out, "what could you have possibly done to betray him?"

"Well, I would have thought, Harry," replied Voldemort with an air of casual wonder, "that _that_ would have been quite obvious to you by now…I killed your parents."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Harry replied and he faltered for a moment at the ease in which the Dark Lord admitted to murdering his parents. "Snape was the one who overheard the prophecy…he was the one who told you to go after my mum and dad," rambled Harry. "Why would killing them matter to him?"

"Not _them_, Harry," noted Voldemort. _"Lily."_

Perplexed, Harry shook his head slightly at the Dark Lord. He tried in vain to make sense of what was being said.

"Severus was _in love_ with her."

Harry felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. His breath left him. _Snape? In love?_ The words tossed violently about in his brain. _With my mother?_

"Yes," Voldemort answered the quizzical look of shock that dangled upon the young wizard's face. "Severus was the one who told me about your parents and I went to Godric's Hollow that night to kill you, Harry, and your father, if need be," recalled the Dark Lord. "But I was not to touch Lily…at least that is what I allowed Severus to believe."

Taking a moment, Voldemort allowed his words to sink in.

"But no one, least of all me, expected that your mother would sacrifice herself the way she did for you," explained the Dark Lord. "Standing in front of you like that…" he paused for a moment, shaking his head, as if what Lily had done was so incomprehensible to him, even now. 

"Killing her – while unfortunate for Severus – was quite necessary for me. Or at least I thought so at the time," added Voldemort. "I believe it was at that point that Severus probably abandoned me, although I see now that he may have pretended otherwise."

Here was the real reason, thought Harry, why Snape had always hated James so much: not because Harry's father and his friends belittled and teased him – although Harry was sure that this had only added fuel to the fire – but because in the end, James got the girl. The only girl, Harry was willing to bet, that Snape had ever truly loved. It was no wonder why the sight of Harry infuriated Snape the way it did. Harry looked just like his father. He was a living, breathing, walking reminder of the one thing Snape would never have…Lily.

"And the initials, _R.A.B._," Harry quickly asked, sensing that the topic of Severus Snape was about to come to a close, "what did it stand for?"

_"Ridiculously Average Boy,"_ answered Voldemort. "It was something your father and his friends used when referring to Severus," he added. "He liked to use the initials…I think it was his way of mocking them really. I mean, after all, Severus was anything but average."

That same sense of shame, which had washed over Harry that day in the dungeon when he had witnessed Snape's worst memory in the Pensieve, once again licked at his insides.

"And now Harry," Voldemort redirected, "it is time to die." 

Savagely, the Dark Lord raised his wand. He pointed it directly at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

"Say goodbye…_to your friends!_"


	5. Familiar Territory

"_No!"_ Harry shouted. He ran feverishly towards his friends as the Dark Lord aimed his wand directly at them.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle stood behind the three targets, and thinking only of themselves, quickly dove out of sight in fear of being hit with Voldemort's curse. No longer able to rely upon Draco's body for support, Ginny sagged to her knees. Her tremulous hands, once steady and confident, lay outstretched on the ground before her. Wearily, they bore the limp weight of her torso and braced her from falling headfirst into the dirt.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Harry bellowed, and he leapt in front of his friends just as the Dark Lord cried _"Avada Kedavra."_

A jet of red light blasted forth from the tip of Harry's wand and collided with the jet of green issued forth from Voldemort's. The two streams met once more in mid-air and the wands in their hands shook violently. Harry knew all too well what was happening. It was the exact same thing he had experienced that night in the cemetery when he and Voldemort first dueled. But that night, thought Harry, he had only needed to worry about himself. Now, there were Ron, Hermione and Ginny to consider. He didn't dare break the connection just yet.

Harry felt his feet leave the ground. Both he and Voldemort rose into the air. A thread of glistening golden light appeared, connecting them and they drifted away from Harry's friends. The three cowards, who had been their captors, lay speechless and watched from their place on the ground. Hermione – having enough presence of mind – quickly grabbed her dejected wand and stupefied them. She joined Ron at Ginny's side.

Settling down a few feet away, the gleaming thread connecting Harry and Voldemort began to fragment. The beams curved high above their heads and intertwined until they found themselves within the same familiar dome-shaped web as before. Next, came the sound of the phoenix song that had once comforted Harry so. He felt his wand shake more aggressively and watched as the golden beam metamorphosed once again into large beads of light that slid erratically between them.

Harry fixed his eyes upon the beads. He concentrated as hard as he could. In earnest, he watched as they once again quivered and slid towards Voldemort. Harry glimpsed the Dark Lord, who struggled to keep his own wand steady under the stress of the connection. Catching Voldemort's eye, Harry suddenly saw him smile and a look of blatant confidence crossed over the Dark Lord's evil face.

"Hoping for a repeat performance, are we Harry?" Voldemort spewed.

Harry tightened his grip and focused harder upon the beads that teetered precariously between them.

"Feeling quite confident aren't we?" the Dark Lord coaxed with a bit more ease.

_Ignore him,_ Harry told himself. _He's only trying to break your concentration._

"I meant to tell you, Harry," Voldemort continued, "I was most impressed with the way you sought out and destroyed the Horcruxes."

_Yeah, I bet you were,_ Harry thought and he stared at the beads a little more furiously.

"All the hard work you did," added the Dark Lord in mock admiration, "hunting them down, one by one, like that. It really was quite remarkable."

_Good of you to notice,_ Harry quipped silently to himself, his sarcasm finally getting the better of him.

"But I feel inclined to share with you," the Dark Lord stated with ill sincerity, "that you made _one – fatal – error_."

_Sure I did,_ Harry mocked, and he steadied himself.

"You see, while I admit to being quite fond of Nagini," persisted Voldemort, "I never actually used her as a Horcrux."

On the verge of spouting off another glib remark, Harry paused. His gaze wandered slowly from the beads to Lord Voldemort, who stared back at him with no hint of humor or amusement in his sadistic red eyes. In that moment Harry realized, much to his own horror and dismay, that Voldemort was serious.

The wood quivered uncontrollably in Harry's hands, and for a moment he was sure that it was going to explode, taking him right along with it. Harry watched, stunned, as the beads of light shuddered and slid slowly towards the tip of his own wand. Desperately he tried to focus, almost willing the beads to move in the opposite direction, but they did not. Instead, they continued to edge towards Harry; the scariest thing being that he didn't know what would happen if they connected. Who or what would drift out of his wand? Harry frantically tried to think…_surely, nothing quite as grotesque as Voldemort's. But still…_ The last time they met, Harry benefitted from the beads reaching the Dark Lord's tip first. _Who's to say_, thought Harry, _that it won't be Voldemort who benefits this time._

Harry doubled his grip. He felt his concentration weaken as the beads moved closer…and closer…and closer. Ever so slightly, they touched the tip of his own wand. An instant backlash of light sprayed forth from it and Harry's body sprang backwards. The light struck the Dark Lord hard in the chest and face. Voldemort staggered sideways, dropped his wand and the connection between them broke. Harry watched in utter amazement as the Dark Lord clutched at his chest, astounded and gasping heavily for air. A clear, thick liquid gushed forth from Voldemort's wounds where blood should have been; Harry could only assume this occurred naturally in a body possessing a severed soul. 

Diligently, Harry tried to recall what possible curse could have produced such results from his wand. With a fleeting glance, he looked at the Dark Lord and then to his friends. They remained huddled together on the ground only a few feet away. Ron's eyes, wide with surprise, were fixed upon Voldemort and his mouth was gaped open in such a way that it reminded Harry of the perfectly round hoops that his best friend once so proudly protected on the Quidditch Pitch. Ginny remained bent over on her hands and knees, her brother's hand still upon her shoulder to steady her. She too stared at the Dark Lord, her blazing red hair having fallen randomly in her face. It eclipsed her once sallow complexion, revealing in a peek-a-boo fashion only one of her eyes. Harry could tell by its steely glare that Ginny was regaining her fortitude. He quickly eyed Hermione, who shot him a mystified look as if to say _what in the name of Merlin, was that?_ At a loss for words, Harry shrugged his shoulders and allowed the puzzled look upon his face to answer for him. His mind raced. Harry knew that even with all that had transpired since Dumbledore's death, he had never inflicted this kind of anguish on anyone._ At least, not on purpose, anyway._

And suddenly, Harry understood why the ghastly site in front of him seemed so familiar. It was the same as that day in the bathroom with Malfoy when Harry had inflicted, with little forethought, a curse that he learned from the Half Blood Prince.

_Sectumsempra_. It was the only Dark Magic Harry had ever purposely used on another human being.

The Dark Lord cried out, his face and body contorted in obvious pain. _Pain_. The word stirred within Harry, awakening in him the subtle realization of what exactly it meant. _Voldemort could feel pain,_ thought Harry and his heart leapt. He knew that if the Dark Lord could feel pain than surely that meant that all of the Horcruxes were destroyed. _…and if they were,_ reasoned Harry, _then Voldemort could die. _

Harry steadied himself, raised his wand, and aimed it directly at Lord Voldemort's heart. Prepared to cast the curse that the Dark Lord had exacted with pride and brutality on so many before him, Harry suddenly felt an abrupt stir in the air. A gust of wind rose up beneath their feet. It cycloned around them, causing the trees to bend and twist more violently than Harry was sure any Whomping Willow ever could. Harry raised the back of his hand to his face. Woefully, he attempted to shield his eyes from the dust and debris swirling all around them. His friends, crouching closely together, did the same. Harry tried to remain upright against the rolling wind. He knew better than to take his eyes off of Voldemort but he faltered slightly and fell to his knees. Eye to eye with the Dark Lord, Harry watched as Voldemort reached out for him – either in a vain attempt to stop Harry from what he was about to surely do or perhaps to beg and plead for what was left of his miserable life – Harry didn't really care to know which.

And suddenly, the Dark Lord jerked as though something had nicked him. It was similar, Harry couldn't help but think, to the way the ice had nicked his own face that cold, blustery day high above the Quidditch Pitch a few years ago when he encountered a swarm of Dementors while chasing after the Golden Snitch. It sliced deeply into the Dark Lord's face, exposing a gaping wound where more of the same viscous substance poured forth. The flap of skin that was Voldemort's cheek wilted down the side of his face and without warning, the wind slowly began to peel away at it. Piece by piece, it chipped at the Dark Lord's frame and carried him off like tiny scraps of paper mache in a wind tunnel. Voldemort let out the most horrendously agonizing scream…and was gone. 

Footnote:

Priori Incantatem scene based upon pages 663-665, Goblet of Fire


	6. The Prophecy Fulfilled

The wind died down, almost as quickly as it had arisen and left behind a deafening silence that permeated the entire forest. Barren branches strewn carelessly across the woodland landscape lay torn and splintered, orphaned by their once lofty dwelling place in the sky. Fragments of nature's debris littered the earthly windswept floor as smatterings of soil and dust clung to every piece of its ragged terrain.

Harry rose slowly to his feet.

"Nobody move!" he yelled at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, having caught sight of them coming towards him out the corner of his eye.

They stopped immediately in their tracks, standing perfectly still. All of them listened – for what they weren't entirely sure. Harry too stood frozen. He scanned the area, and they held their collective breaths. There was no trace of the Dark Lord. The stillness in the air broke with the rustling of a nearby bush and the four of them practically jumped out of their skins. Harry sharply took aim at its overgrown branches. His heart pounded in his chest and he waited in anticipation for the denizen within the bush to reveal itself. Could it be Voldemort? Harry wondered. Could the Dark Lord have survived, yet again? Or was this perhaps, pondered Harry, some clever ruse put into place by Voldemort to distract him? Harry's mind strayed and visions of being stalked by the Dark Lord crept into his now paranoid thoughts. He cast his eyes on the surrounding trees and looked for anything even remotely suspicious; his wand remained poised upon the bush. A twig snapped from somewhere underneath it. Harry quickly fixed his green eyes upon it once more. He steadied himself and watched as a furry, gray rabbit sprang out innocently into the open. Briskly, it wiggled its tiny, pink nose up at him and casually hopped away. Harry exhaled. He smiled sheepishly at his friends, lowered his wand and finally let down his guard.

And that's when he heard it.

_"Harrrryyy…"_

A faint whisper really, nothing more.

_"Harrrryyy…"_

It called to Harry from somewhere on the wind. The sound of it grew, weaving in and about, like a thousand echoes all around him. The others heard it too. It rose in volume, escalating at one point before suddenly diminishing, only to return again swelling in Harry's ears. It didn't take long for any of them to recognize it, for it was unmistakable. The voice of Lord Voldemort rang out around them and Harry, purely on instinct, tightened the grip on his wand. He looked around, almost as if he were searching for a Golden Snitch. Except now, thought Harry, his feet were planted firmly on the ground and what he sought, he knew, was much more elusive.

_"Haven't you ever wondered Harry…"_ he felt Voldemort's voice sweep over him, _"why you didn't die that night in Godric's Hollow?"_

_Of course I have,_ thought Harry. It was a question that still haunted him like none other, _even now_; even after all that Harry had learned about his mother's sacrifice and the prophecy.

_"Or why it is that you possess some of my powers?"_ the Dark Lord's voice continued to ebb and flow.

Harry stood in place. He tried anxiously to piece it all together; his wand – as always – at the ready, even if right now he hadn't a clue exactly where or at what to point it. 

_"Harry…think,"_ the Dark Lord's silky voice mocked in Harry's ear, so closely in fact, that he could have sworn he actually felt Voldemort's breath on his neck; the likes of which sent a slight shiver down the middle of Harry's back.

_"Why is it that you haven't yet been able to erase the last remaining fragments of my soul from existence?"_ Lord Voldemort asked.

_Simple,_ thought Harry. He had obviously missed a Horcrux, just as the Dark Lord had said.

_"Exactly," _he heard Voldemort reply, as though he had quite clearly read Harry's mind. _"But not just any Horcrux, Harry," _added the Dark Lord with pleasure, _"you missed the most important one of all...you." _

Voldemort's words lingered in the air for a moment. They resounded sharply in Harry's head and he tried desperately to make sense of what was being said. His breath – having grown shallow and uneven – seemed to drag his thoughts downward like a lead balloon into what Harry was certain had to be the absolute deepest, darkest hole that he had ever known.

_"No…"_ the word caught slightly in the back of Harry's throat. It stumbled out of his mouth in the smallest of voices; weak, yet somehow overflowing with an enormous amount of sorrow.

This was the reason, thought Harry, why he survived. It was the same reason that he and Voldemort shared so many powers – because somewhere deep, down inside of Harry laid the remaining one-seventh of the Dark Lord's soul. Harry wanted to run and hide; to be anyone or anything other than what he was at that very moment.

He heard the familiar rustling of leaves from behind and Harry was sure that the same gust of wind that had carried Lord Voldemort away had returned this time for him. The cold, high-pitched shriek of the Dark Lord's laughter filled the air. It rose and then fell as unpredictably as the wind on which it was carried, reminding Harry of the chaos that he was sure now lay within.

And then, everything fell silent again.

"Oh, I don't like this," noted Ron, his voice quavering with unease. "I don't like this one bit. Harry, c'mon let's get out of here!"

"Ron!" snapped Hermione and she pressed her finger to her lips.

"What!" Ron replied incredulously. "Do you seriously think that we should just stand here and wait for that bloody wind to come back? Because I'm tellin' yeh, I don't know what's creepier, that wind or this eerie silence!"

"Harry, what's happening?" Hermione asked. She ignored Ron's words.

Harry turned to answer, but found that his mouth had gone dry. He just stood there in silence…and waited.

Suddenly, Harry's scar exploded and he felt as though he was struck from behind; the force knocked him to his knees. Blinded by excruciating pain, Harry grasped his forehead. His wand slipped out of his hand and fell to the ground a few feet away. Harry felt the Dark Lord wrap himself tightly around his insides and fuse with the young wizard as he took possession of him; a seemingly indestructible bond that Harry knew this time was permanent. The pain was beyond anything Harry had ever felt in his life, and he knew that he no longer wanted to escape. He wanted to die.

Harry felt his eyes bulge as Voldemort settled in behind them and attempted to focus. Lifting Harry's own fingers, the Dark Lord mechanically wiggled them about as though he were merely trying on a new set of skin.

"Harry?"

He heard the faint sound of Ginny's voice as she called out to him; mindful of the fact that he had never heard her sound as frightened for him as she did now. Harry saw her start in hard towards him, with Ron and Hermione in tow. They hobbled from the hits they had taken earlier. Harry watched in horror as the Dark Lord raised the hand closest to them and waved it maliciously at his friends. Harry tried desperately to exert some level of control over himself. He resisted, finding that the urge to follow through was too great, and before he knew it, his hand cast a shockwave that sent a ripple though the three of them. They flew several feet backwards onto the ground.

Harry screamed and Voldemort, laughing at the boy's feeble attempt to control his own actions, lowered Harry's hand again.

_It does no good to resist, Harry,"_ he heard the Dark Lord say in his mind, _and it will be much less painful, once you accept it."_

_"Never!"_ Harry roared and he struggled to withstand the pain he felt. He would never accept this.

Harry tried to get to his feet.

_Trust me…it is not as bad as it seems,_ Voldemort soothed. _Once you submit to my will, I promise you the pain will subside._

Harry tried repeatedly to cast off the Dark Lord's influence upon him. He stumbled and fell to the ground again. The pain pounded relentlessly against every corner of his brain. It traveled mercilessly down every nerve ending in his body. Harry's muscles seized and he felt a rather strange sensation take over his mind. It was as though he were being pulled towards a specific choice, not of his own making. Harry's mind relaxed and with it the agonizing pain. His soul was starting to surrender and he didn't even feel much like he cared.

_That's it, Harry,_ reinforced the Dark Lord. _Relax._

Harry felt his arms go limp.

_Good,_ replied Voldemort as he too felt the boy's lack of resistance. _Now, isn't that much better?_ The Dark Lord squealed with delight. 

And it was, thought Harry, in a strange sort of way for he no longer felt the blinding pain or the urgent need to resist.

_With your notoriety and my methods no one will dare stop me,_ Lord Voldemort hissed with pleasure inside Harry's mind. _The Wizarding world will once again bow to me._

"But there will be resistance," Harry vaguely heard himself say and a flash of familiar faces drifted past his subconscious.

Lupin. Tonks. Moody. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Mr. & Mrs. Weasley. The faces of those who had fought so long and so hard against the Dark Lord flooded Harry's mind, one after the other.

_Not to worry, _reassured Voldemort. _Once I have split your soul – as I have my own – nothing they do will matter._

The words bobbed around in Harry's mind like a cork on the open sea. He tried desperately to focus upon what Voldemort had just said but Harry felt drugged and his thoughts lagged behind. He knew that Voldemort had just said something – something that had made a part of Harry somewhere deep down inside sit up and take notice…but what? And why was it suddenly so hard to think?

_'Once I have split your soul – as I have my own,'_ Harry summoned from the deep recesses of his mind. That was what the Dark Lord had said, recalled Harry with certainty and suddenly it all rushed back. Lord Voldemort was planning to do to Harry what he had done to himself. He was going to sever Harry's soul.

"No!" shouted Harry. The thick fog over his mind lifted and the agonizing pain returned.

_This has to end now_, he thought. The blinding pain seared upon his scar.

_You can't win, Harry,_ he heard the Dark Lord say from somewhere deep in his thoughts. _You won't! _Voldemort added with conviction.

Unable to move very far, Harry writhed in pain. He felt as though he were going to be quite sick. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny – having crept slowly back towards him from where they were thrown – eyed Harry with grave concern. Harry was sure that to them he must have looked as though he were losing his mind and wondered if in fact he actually was.

_One shot,_ thought Harry. _If they could just get one shot at Voldemort this whole thing would finally be over._

"Ron!" Harry shouted in excruciating pain to his best friend. "Finish it!"

"Harry…no," Ron replied and stared at him in utter disbelief at what he was being asked to do. "I can't kill you." He paused, considering, "I don't think I could if I wanted to." His expression was both pained and apologetic at once.

"Hermione…please!" Harry begged. He hoped that she would be the one to follow through.

"No, Harry listen to me…Ron's right!" yelled Hermione. "None of us are equipped to handle an Unforgivable curse, much less invoke the sheer malice that we would need to do it. It's not in our nature. There has to be another way!" she added and the distraught look upon her face told Harry that she was desperately trying to think of some spell or charm that she had read about in one of her many books.

Shamefully, Harry's eyes drifted towards Ginny, who stood before him with a pleading look upon her face as if to say _please, don't even ask._ Harry dropped his eyes to the ground and heard the low, evil cackle of the Dark Lord's laughter resound again in his head.

_You see, Harry?_ Whispered Voldemort. _No one will dare touch me. There will be some – like your friends – who can't and others that simply won't, for fear of harming you. Your body is the perfect fortress for my soul." _

The Dark Lord's words washed over Harry and he found himself painfully aware of what the future was indeed going to hold for him; a life – if he could even call it that – full of hatred, malice, and death.

_"…for neither can live while the other survives…"_

The words of the Lost Prophecy echoed in Harry's ears, knowing now its true meaning. He and Lord Voldemort were one in the same and for Harry's body to live, meant that his soul had to die.

Harry closed his eyes, swallowed hard and felt desperation settle in the pit of his stomach. _What am I suppose to do now? _thought Harry, for he knew that the Dark Lord was right. No one, not even Harry's closest friends, could help him now. Harry felt trapped, reduced to nothing more than an unwilling participant in his own body. He would be forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding. Eternity, it seemed, was no longer a distant reality for Harry. It was his here and now; his present and future.

_So, that's it? _Harry heard a defiant little voice rise up from somewhere within, _you're just giving up, then? _He knew he didn't want to, but Harry didn't know what else to do. _Some 'chosen one' you turned out to be, _berated the little voice. Harry felt the heat of anger rise up into his chest. _This isn't my fault! _Harry retorted silently to himself. He hadn't asked for this to happen…for any of it. All that he had ever wanted was to be like everyone else; to grow up in his own home, surrounded by his own parents, and live a relatively normal wizard's life...whatever the hell that meant, thought Harry. Normal was a word that had never described him. He became different the very moment that the Dark Lord struck his parents down and then tried to do the same to him.

A steady stream of familiar sights flashed before Harry's eyes; similar he couldn't help but think to the way his cousin Dudley described the Muggle movies he had often enjoyed at the local cinema. It was one of the many things Harry had never been allowed to do growing up. But he always imagined the film spinning on its reel, projecting a series of wonderfully fascinating pictures up onto a giant white screen; much the same way, thought Harry, as the pictures now in his head…except there was nothing wonderful about them. The visions of Harry's life reeled through his mind: the endless parade of insults he endured at the hands of his Uncle Vernon…the gaping stares at the scar on his forehead…the constant whispering behind his back…the rattling, foul stench of a Dementor's kiss…and Cedric's death. That last one still haunted him, as did the survivor's guilt he'd felt afterwards.

And that wasn't all. Next, came the flash of Voldemort's rebirth…detention with that awful woman, Umbridge…and Sirius' death. He had thought that he was going to the Ministry of Magic that night to save his godfather; an act that now in Harry's mind had only managed to cement Sirius' fate. Harry felt the burden of guilt rest heavily upon his shoulders and it angered him to think how stupid he was to allow the Dark Lord to use him like that. The reel in his mind continued to spin: being possessed by Voldemort in the Atrium…the Lost Prophecy…and finally, Dumbledore's murder. Harry swelled with anger, incensed by the injustice of it all. He was outraged that the one person responsible for all of it was about to use him to continue the reign of terror. _Only if you let him, _that defiant little voice spoke up inside of Harry again.

Harry knew that he couldn't allow Voldemort to use him like that again. He couldn't do that to himself, but perhaps more importantly, he couldn't do it to his friends, or any of the others for that matter, who had either given their lives or spent them trying to stop the spread of the Dark Lord's ways.

Carefully, Harry eyed his wand. It was only a few feet away, and allowing his eyes to drift upward he looked at Ginny. She stood just on the other side of it; the wand lay directly between them. Ginny locked eyes with him, and Harry noticed that the look in hers now mirrored his own, almost as if they had reached the very same conclusion at the exact same time. Her eyes softened a bit and Harry saw reflected back at him a lifetime of love that he'd never have the opportunity to know firsthand. His heart melted and tenderly, he mouthed the words _I love you. _

Silently, Harry called forth his wand from the ground. It landed firmly in his grip. The bitter anger inside of him subsided and Harry found that another force – a more powerful one – was beginning to emerge. A series of other pictures flashed through his memory, almost as though someone had switched the reel on the projector in his head: the squashed birthday cake that Hagrid gave him the first time they met…the joy of leaving the Dursley's behind…and meeting Ron on the Hogwarts Express. Harry had always felt blessed that it was Ron he ended up sharing a compartment with that fateful day. It had, quite literally, led him to the most solid friendship he had ever known. Then, came the rush of riding a broom for the very first time and making friends with Hermione. That was perhaps, thought Harry, the smartest thing he'd ever done. Her intelligence and her loyalty had gotten them out of so many messes, but it was her unwavering friendship that he treasured most.

Next, was the Burrow…freeing Dobby from the Malfoy's…winning the House Cup…and being asked to live with Sirius. These were followed by memories of saving his godfather by the edge of the lake…the DA…kissing Ginny.

The warmth of these memories washed over Harry and left behind a subtle reassurance that filled up his insides. Harry knew what he was feeling. Dumbledore had mentioned it to him on numerous occasions. It was the power of love; the power that the Dark Lord knew not. It was Harry's greatest strength, and it was prompting him to make the most profound sacrifice of all.

Harry looked down at the wand in his hand. He could feel Voldemort's soul struggle inside of him as the Dark Lord resisted and tried to regain control. Harry found that the anger he'd felt inside was not nearly as strong as the love that consumed him now. He would not allow Voldemort to go on hurting the ones he loved, thought Harry, and the sacrifice to ensure their safety suddenly, in his eyes, seemed well worth the price.

Harry raised his wand and closing his eyes, felt a sense of peace wash over him. Selflessly, he turned the wand inward and bellowed _"Avada Kedavra!" _

Harry felt his back arch and a blinding whirlwind of light burst forth from his chest. It knocked him again to his knees. He heard Voldemort let out a horrifyingly vile and grisly scream that shook the entire forest. Harry fought to keep his eyelids open against the force emanating from his own body and watched as the Dark Lord's spirit thrashed about violently in a cyclone of light. The radiant beam in Harry's chest tugged at Voldemort, who tried dreadfully to resist the slaughter of the remaining remnants of his soul.

Harry's body shook uncontrollably. He gasped for air and a white noise buzzed in his ears. The forest around Harry faded, and the sounds surrounding him drifted away. In the white light radiating from his body, Harry saw the pale outline of three faces emerge. Two of them hovered together off to one side; a man and a woman. Harry would have recognized them anywhere. The woman's brilliant green eyes were exactly like his and the man's black, unruly hair was reminiscent of Harry's own. His mum and dad lingered above him with compassion in their eyes. They spoke to Harry and assured him that the worst was almost over.

Harry's eyes drifted to the third face. His godfather, Sirius, peered down at him. His ragged appearance and tired face seemed much younger now, more vibrant than Harry had ever recalled seeing him. Sirius, too, spoke and urged Harry onward. Between the three faces, tumbled Voldemort's soul. It twisted and turned, churning madly about. The piercing shriek of the Dark Lord's screams resonated sharply in Harry's ears and at last Voldemort's soul shattered. Bursting apart, it cast a million tiny points of dismal light that then fizzled out and dissolved before ever reaching the ground. 

Harry's body flew violently backwards and struck the forest's hard, dirt floor. The light radiating from his chest disappeared and his wand – gently rolling out of his cold, limp hand – landed next to him on the ground.

_"Harry!" _Ron heard Ginny cry as the three them hastily made their way towards him.

_"Harry, please…wake up!" _she sobbed and Ron watched as his sister flung herself down next to Harry on the ground. _"Can you hear me?" _Ginny asked, her voice breaking. She was waiting for an answer, thought Ron that she somehow already knew she would never receive.

Stunned and completely numb from head to toe, Ron stared at Hermione who gently rested her hand upon Ginny's shoulder. It paused there as if to say _it's too late. _No longer able to bear the awful truth, Ron felt Hermione turn and fall into the comfort of his own arms. He welcomed her without hesitation and watched as Ginny wept over Harry's lifeless body.

_The boy who lived…_was no more.

Footnotes:

"…for neither can live while the other survives…" Page 841, The Order of the Phoenix

"The boy who lived…" Page 17, The Sorcerer's Stone


	7. Lost and Found

They stayed that way, the three of them, for what felt like days: Ron and Hermione remained locked in a sorrowful embrace, while Ginny wept over Harry's lifeless body. Time stood still, and none of them wanted to move; doing so meant dealing with the awful reality that surely awaited all of them beyond the Forbidden Forest…a life without Harry.

The clouds above them broke, and a soulful shade of blue spilled generously out across the sky. Pockets of gleaming sunlight filtered down between the thick, heavy tree limbs so that the cluster of leaves that draped over them appeared lit from within. They accentuated vibrant tones of jade and lime green. The rays from the strengthening sun cut across the air and exposed particles of dust that swirled playfully about in the golden beams that streamed towards the forest floor. The light landed in between numerous tree trunks, illuminating itself upon grass, shrubs, and dirt like nature's version of theatrical spotlights. In the distance, they heard the low, steady cry of an owl call out from somewhere in mid-flight and a warm, soft breeze drifted over the clearing. The collage of trees surrounding them swayed slightly, causing the leaves to rustle as though they were applauding the beauty of nature itself. 

Ron struggled to hold back his tears and felt Hermione choke back the remainder of her own, before wiping away the well of tears that had settled in her eyes. He leaned forward, tenderly kissed Hermione on the forehead, and slowly detached himself from her arms. Ron knelt next to his sister.

"Ginny…" he spoke in a soothing manner. His hand rested consolingly upon her shoulder. "Ginny…c'mon," Ron tried compassionately to coax her from Harry's side.

"No…" She flinched and shied away from his hand. Ginny struggled desperately to remain where she was.

A steady stream of tears continued to slip down her face, and she whimpered, almost as if to say _please, don't make me _as Ron tried to pull her away again.

"He wouldn't have wanted it this way," Ron whispered painfully in his sister's ear.

At his words, Ginny halted, and Ron caught her eyes. They told Ron that she was finding it quite difficult to resist the reality of his words, no matter how she tried. She drew her eyes back towards Harry for a brief moment and then turning, collapsed sobbingly into Ron's arms. He held her comfortingly as long as he could and then decided that it was more than he could bear. Ron turned towards Hermione with a pleading expression that begged for her to intervene.

Hermione knelt down awkwardly beside them. She shook, barely able to contain the anguish she felt inside and the harassed expression upon her face emphasized the enormous strain she was under in trying to hold herself together. With a sigh of relief, Ron shifted Ginny into her arms. His own gaze now fell upon Harry. It just didn't seem real, thought Ron. He wistfully eyed Harry as though at any moment he half expected his best friend to spring to his feet, declare that it was all some clever ruse, and laugh at Ron for actually buying into it. But Harry didn't move. Instead, he just lay there cold and still.

Ron ran his hands through his tattered, gingery hair and tried to focus upon what to do next; he was painfully aware of the fact that if things were at all different, Harry would have known for certain just what that would be.

"We should take him back up to the school," Hermione rambled with blatant hysteria in her voice.

"Yeah," Ron replied hazily. "You're probably right."

"Perhaps, we could conjure a stretcher," added Hermione. She comforted Ginny with one arm as she fumbled anxiously for her wand with the other. The tip of it caught on the inside lining of her pocket. In her haste to free the wand, she nearly dropped it. Hermione grappled to get a better hold on it and tears poured forth from her eyes again.

"No!" Ron answered definitively and stared at Harry's body as though the topic wasn't up for debate. He met Hermione's eyes. "No…" Ron spoke softly to her and gently lowered the wand in her hand. _"I've got him." _

Ron reached out for Harry and hesitated slightly. He was unsure of whether his emotions were going to hold together long enough for him to do what needed to be done. 

"Ron," Hermione replied in labored breaths between the sobbing of her tears. She witnessed the agony in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he responded with an unrecognizable strength in his voice.

He was not about to let down his best friend, he thought. Not now. Not after all of the times that Harry had been there for him.

Ron took a deep breath and reached out again for Harry's arms. He was startled slightly by just how cool they actually were to the touch. Ron lifted them, one by one and rested them reverently across Harry's chest. Sliding his own hand carefully beneath Harry's shoulders, he then placed his other hand just behind Harry's knees. Ron braced himself and lifted his best friend off of the ground.

"Grab his wand," Ron muttered. He never once looked at it.

"I'll get it," Ginny responded. She broke away from Hermione's arms and retrieved it from the ground with a determined speed that clearly left Hermione without recourse.

Together the four of them made their way out of the Forbidden Forest.

They crossed the battle ground that was their school. Billowing clouds of dark smoke trailed from where the castle sustained structural damage, and Ron noticed that a rather large chunk of the Astronomy tower was missing. Their fellow students were scattered across the lawn. Most were battered and bruised. Injuries, Ron surmised, inflicted by Voldemort's followers in their quest to take over the school. From the looks of things the attempt had failed. Slowly, the head of each student turned to greet them. Some cried out, while others simply stared. Upon seeing Ron, a group of fifth years gasped and cupped their hands over their mouths in disbelief; gradually, the same horrified look of recognition registered upon all of the students' faces. Ron glanced at Hermione. She wore a sober expression. Her arm remained draped over Ginny's shoulder in comfort, and Ron noticed that his sister – who never once looked up at any of them – continued to grip Harry's wand closely to her heart.

By the time the four of them reached the main entrance to the school, a small crowd had formed behind them. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny crossed the threshold and maneuvered their way around the scattered debris that now littered the flagged stone entrance hall. They made their way towards the stairs and the crowd – ever growing – tried to follow. They were wisely detained by Professor Slughorn and Madam Hooch, positioned there by Headmistress McGongall for damage control. The crowd watched in silence as the three of them climbed the marble staircase with Harry's body. His one hand, having slipped from his chest, dangled loosely just beneath Ron's elbow with each step. They reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

Having made their way along the cold, stone corridor they came to rest outside the massive doors to the hospital wing. Ron heard what sounded like a flurry of activity just on the other side. A multitude of voices rose and then fell, so quickly that it was hard to make out anything that was being said. Hermione glimpsed at him as if to say _are you ready?_ to which Ron responded with a half-hearted nod. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors. They creaked, sounding somehow louder than normal, Ron thought, and a collective hush fell over the room.

Several familiar faces stared back at them. At the far end of the room were Ron's oldest brother Bill and his wife Fleur. Bill's long, red hair was pulled back loosely in a ponytail, and he appeared quite disheveled. _He looks similar,_ Ron couldn't help but think, _to the way Lupin often does after a full moon. _Fleur stood stoically at his side and her delicate, porcelain-like hand rested gently upon his forearm. They stood together beside a bed where Remus Lupin lay unconscious. A very weary Nymphadora Tonks sat vigil at his bedside. Just beyond them, Ron's second oldest brother Charlie leaned tiredly against the wall; his fatigued face bore the mark of several scrapes and cuts. A sling hung from around his neck supporting one arm. Nearby were the twins Fred and George. Their expressions were quite grim, something Ron had never recalled seeing on their faces before. The three brothers flanked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, whose attention was drawn to a second bed. Ron's estranged brother Percy lay before them. His eyes remained closed. Leaning over his wife, who sat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Weasley rested his hands supportively upon her shoulders. They cast their own eyes upon Ron and the exhausted looks upon their faces shifted slightly to that of sincere disbelief. A few feet away Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were both solemn and still.

Madam Pomfrey, Rubeus Hagrid, and Headmistress McGongall – with a most dejected look upon her face – rounded out the room. Woven in and amongst them all were a series of other faces. Some were pushed so far back in the pack that it was difficult to make out just who they were, while the identities of others simply did not register in Ron's mind as he stood before them now with Harry's body in hand.

"Bring him here, Mr. Weasley," McGongall spoke. Her voice broke the silence, and she ushered him further into the room towards an empty bed before her.

With great care, Ron made his way down the center aisle. All eyes were once again upon him and his best friend as they passed. But instead of feeling self-consciousness or even rightful sorrow, Ron's mind wandered to the number of times over the years that he and Harry had found themselves in this very room together.

The rows of beds on either side of him cued Ron's memory and a myriad of recollections drifted through his thoughts. He heard the distant sound of Harry's voice echo in his head; bits and pieces of their conversations held long ago. Ron passed another bed and wrinkled his nose. He swore that he smelt the putrid stench of Skele-Gro lingering somewhere in the air and recalled the rubbery, boneless arm that Harry had endured after one of Professor Lockhart's spells went awry. The scent was quite faint and Ron was certain now that it was merely a figment of his memory. He passed a broom resting against one of the nearby walls. The handle was split down the middle and a vast array of its twig-like bristles was burnt beyond recognition. It had definitely seen better days, thought Ron, and for a brief moment, he saw a younger image of himself standing over a bed holding Harry's own broken Nimbus Two Thousand; an encounter with a swarm of Dementors high above the Quidditch Pitch had caused Harry to fall some fifty feet off of his broom. Ron walked on, past the tired, weary faces that stared back at him. He had seen looks like these before, most notably upon Harry's face the night he witnessed the murder of Cedric Diggory and the rebirth of Lord Voldemort. Harry had entered the hospital wing that night with Dumbledore at his side, pale and exhausted. It was perhaps the most fragile Ron had ever seen his best friend.

Ron made his way to the end of the aisle towards McGongall and his thoughts drifted back to the present. He turned to face the Headmistress and out of the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of Alastor Moody just on his right. Moody, too, lurked silently beside another bed, and his usually gruff demeanor softened a bit as he cast his sights upon Harry. Ron's eye drifted to the bed next to where Moody stood. Professor Snape rested there. The sight of him startled and confused Ron. He didn't know what happened to Snape, or why he was given the privilege of being brought back to Hogwarts after all he had done, but Ron knew one thing for certain…the man was now quite dead.

"Lay him here," McGongall's words drew Ron's thoughts back to the task at hand. She patted the empty bed. "Gently, now," she offered, and Ron carefully lowered Harry's body onto the bed, as though how he did so still mattered.

"Is he all righ', Ron?" asked Hagrid. Their eyes met as he bent over the bed to help with Harry's body. 

Ron froze and suddenly found that he didn't know what to say, or for that matter even how to say it. He just looked at Hagrid and then to McGongall at a loss for words.

"Mr. Weasley?" chimed in the Headmistress. "Is Mr. Potter all right?"

"No…" Ron stammered, and his lower lip quivered. "He's dead. Hagrid, he's dead!" Ron croaked, having seen the look of disbelief in the giant's eyes.

The silence that fell when they entered the room suddenly broke with a number of hushed whispers, and Ron's words were passed from person to person in between pronounced gasps of astonishment.

"Don' say that," replied Hagrid sharply. "Don' yeh say that Ron…it's not true."

"Yes, Hagrid" Ron replied, now unable to hold back his tears, "it is true."

Why was he doing this? Thought Ron. Couldn't Hagrid see just how much it was killing him to even say the words?

"But how, Mr. Weasley?" McGongall asked, and she turned a shade of white Ron had never seen before. "How did this happen?"

"He sacrificed himself…" Ron moaned, "to destroy Voldemort." The words tumbled out of his mouth and although he heard them, the ambiguity in Ron's voice denoted that even he couldn't believe what he was saying.

_"Merlin's beard, no…"_ Hagrid gasped beneath his breath. His shocked and saddened gaze fell upon Harry. A rather large tear formed in the corner of his eye and making no attempt to wipe it away, Hagrid allowed it to fall carelessly down his cheek.

The room erupted, this time with the sounds of bewilderment and gentle sobbing.

"Can anything at all be done?" Ron heard McGongall say.

Confused as to why she would even be asking him such a question, Ron laid eyes on the Headmistress. He soon realized that she wasn't addressing him at all. Instead, she looked to her right – just past Hagrid – into the crowd of faces at the foot of Harry's bed. Ron followed her gaze and watched the mob of people slowly part. In their midst, they revealed a rather tall man with flowing silver hair, beard and mustache; a pair of half-moon spectacles sat upon his crooked nose. Albus Dumbledore stood serenely before them.

"But…but how?" Ron sputtered, and the same look of astonishment upon his own face crossed over Ginny and Hermione's.

Surely, he was seeing things, thought Ron.

"You died…" he rambled and swallowed hard in disbelief, _"you're supposed to be dead."_

"Ah, yes, well Mr. Weasley things are not always as they seem," replied Dumbledore with a casual air of delight.

"Can the boy be saved, Albus?" McGongall asked, her voice grave.

"That depends," answered Dumbledore and he made his way to Harry's bedside.

"On what?" Ron asked in an incredulous tone, for he knew that there was no way to reverse the Killing Curse. At least it was something he and the others had always been told.

"On how exactly, Mr. Weasley, he died," clarified Dumbledore.

Hermione stepped forward. She cleared her throat and recounted for them the gruesome details of what occurred in the forest just that very morning. The crowd stood silently before her and stared, hanging on her every word. The news of Harry being a Horcrux caused a particular stir of emotion, at one point, that fluttered about the room in one collective, agitated gasp of horror. In everyone, noticed Ron, but Dumbledore. Instead, the old Headmaster just looked at Hermione as though she had only confirmed what he had already long ago suspected. The crowd settled and Hermione found her voice again. She touched upon Harry's death and just over his shoulder, Ron heard Ginny sniffle. He perused the crowd and saw that many of the faces that were once so focused upon Hermione, were now tilted towards the floor. Everyone was apparently lost in their own thoughts. Ron's eyes drifted to Hermione, whose expression told him that she was feeling quite vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to ease her suffering, to shield her from the awful truth. Their eyes met and Ron saw his own pain reflected back at him. He reached out for her smooth, delicate hand and took it in his own. 

"Albus?" McGongall spoke up at once. Expectation rang quite clearly in her voice.

Instead of answering, Dumbledore simply turned and addressed Hermione.

"You are certain, Miss Granger," he calmly asked the young witch, "that it was Harry's own wand that he used on himself?"

"Yes, sir. I am." Hermione answered confidently, and Ron recalled in his own mind how Harry had silently summoned forth his wand from the ground. 

"Well then, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, giving his full attention to the Headmistress. "All may not yet be lost."

Dumbledore sat on the bed next to Harry, and with great ease leaned over the young wizard's face. Ron watched him hover just above Harry, as though he were searching for some small sign of life behind the boy's otherwise vacant façade.

"Harry," Dumbledore called soothingly to the boy, and Ron felt the crowd tighten in around him. "It is time…" he added. _"Open your eyes." _

All of them held their breath in anticipation. Not a single person in the room moved. The silence would have been deafening, Ron thought, if not for the distant sound of the clock tower down the hall. One chime. Harry's eyes remained closed. Two chimes. His body lay silently upon the bed. Three chimes. Still nothing. Four chimes. Hope faded.

One by one, they allowed themselves to breathe again, and the awful reality of the situation painfully presented itself to all of them once more. Ron felt despair as the masses turned away from Harry's bed. They were crushed and disillusioned, the expressions on their faces telling him that many had concluded that it was simply too late.

Ron cradled Hermione in his arms, and she wept. He eyed Ginny – who had been clinging heavily to hope. Her eyelids were closed tight, as though she were trying desperately to block out the reality of the moment and a trickle of fresh tears fell down her face. The sorrow in the room intensified and peaked somewhat when Hagrid – overcome with an enormous amount of sorrow – burst out crying. He blew his nose into his oversized handkerchief and was ushered by McGongall to a nearby corner for further comfort. Dumbledore, however, simply remained seated next to Harry. He wore a rather peaceful expression, a look that anyone, who truly believes there is a better world beyond their own, carries with a subtle sense of comfort.

Ron's eyes fell upon Neville. He stood at the foot of Harry's bed looking utterly helpless. Ron thought he knew exactly how Neville felt. Slowly, he drew his sights back towards Harry. Ron felt the hot, stinging sensation of his own tears, and tightening his hold on Hermione, buried his face in her neck.

And that's when he heard Neville shout.

_"Look!"_

Ron's head shot up, and he and Hermione abruptly broke apart. Ginny, too, opened her eyes. They focused hard upon Neville and the crowd quickly gathered around Harry's bed once more.

And slowly…gradually…they all saw it too.


	8. A Phoenix Tale

Harry's hands felt like bricks and an oppressive, motionless weight bore down upon his fingertips. They lay peacefully at his side, and although he sensed their heaviness, Harry could no longer ignore his desire to move them. Rigidly, he shifted his index finger and then his thumb. They brushed against the rumpled, worn out fibers of the dull colored blanket lying beneath him, and Harry felt a flexible ease to them now. Ripples of awareness lapped against the corners of Harry's brain like the gentle sway of a pond at the water's edge, and the laden fog shrouding his thoughts lifted. Harry drew in a deep breath, his chest rising, and then falling, as the crowd of faces surrounding him silently did the same. A sensation, like the feel of a cozy fire near the skin on a cold, damp day, radiated in the center of his chest and flowed outward towards his extremities. It surged through his veins, warming him from head to toe. Rolling his head upon the malleable surface of his feather-down pillow, Harry's face came to rest just in front of Dumbledore's, who remained seated on the bed next to him. Harry's eyelids flickered. They, too, felt heavy, he thought, well aware of the fact that even if he could lift them, Harry wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. He had been having the most wonderful dream about his parents and his godfather, Sirius.

The decision to wake was made for him by the late afternoon sun. Streaming in through the high, ornate windows of the hospital wing, it penetrated the thin sleeve of Harry's closed eyelids, and his field of vision beneath them was filled with piercing light. It then faded and disappeared behind a passing cloud. 

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes.

They fell blearily upon the figure sitting next to him. Harry adjusted his vision and saw the gentle, blue gaze of his old Headmaster and friend staring back at him.

"Have I died then, Professor?" Harry asked, assuming that he must surely have if Dumbledore were sitting before him now. 

A faint smile passed over Dumbledore's lips.

"No, Harry" he replied, "I assure you, you are _quite_ alive…as am I."

Harry's brow furrowed, and a puzzled expression fell across his face. He had heard Dumbledore's words quite clearly, but the logic in them escaped Harry. How is it, he wondered, that both he and Dumbledore survived? Harry opened his mouth to ask as much and quickly closed it again. Another question – a more burning one – crept into his thoughts.

"And what of Voldemort?"

Harry's heart raced and he searched for the answer in the old Headmaster's eyes. After a moment, that Harry swore felt like an eternity, Dumbledore spoke.

"Vanquished," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "Thanks to you, Harry…_thanks to you._"

Harry closed his eyes, drew in another deep breath, and this time a triumphant smile spread widely across his face as he exhaled. _So, this is what it feels like to live a life without the likes of Lord Voldemort in it, _he relished. Harry had dreamed of this moment, of the day when the Dark Lord ceased to be anything more than a distant memory to him. _It's over, _thought Harry, _it's finally over. _He was free. The sweet taste of victory lingered in Harry's mouth and he savored it, but only for a moment. Harry's eyes shot open. He stared at Dumbledore.

"Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked, his voice teetering between anxiousness and worry.

He watched as Dumbledore stood, inclined his head and gently nodded towards the other side of Harry's bed. Following Dumbledore's gaze, Harry laid eyes upon his two dearest friends. 

"Welcome back, mate," Ron responded with a catch in his voice.

Harry gave him a simple nod of thanks. He beheld his friends with glistening eyes. They were filthy and their clothes were torn and ripped as though they had crawled through a bramble. Ron wore a tired expression and stood close to Hermione, who remained speechless, something Harry was sure was a first, even for her. He noticed that her eyes were puffy and red. Plastered upon her face was a strange sort of smile, as though at any moment she was going to cast it off and dissolve into tears again. They looked absolutely dreadful, Harry thought; he might have considered razzing them about it had he not been so damned happy to see them.

Harry's expression though, grew grim and he eyed Ron intently.

"Ginny?" Harry asked hesitantly. He was afraid to hear Ron's answer.

Without a word, Ron's eyes drifted towards Hermione, and Harry felt a sinking feeling settle somewhere down around his navel. They shuffled aside, and the lunge in Harry's stomach quickly dissipated. Ginny stepped forward. She stood only a few inches away from him, still clasping his wand. Harry fixed his weary eyes upon her. He was certain that he had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life. Ginny knelt next to his bed, her long, fiery red hair falling slightly in her face and Harry felt the warmth of her touch against his cheek.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.

A solitary teardrop trickled down her face, and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Harry gently brushed away the tear.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," he replied. Harry stroked her face tenderly with the back of his fingertips.

He knew full well the understated simplicity of his words, and gazing deeply into her tear-stained eyes, searched for the humor behind them. She smirked and affectionately rested her head against the palm of his hand.

A few days later, Harry was released from the hospital wing. His account of what had occurred in the forest between him and Lord Voldemort had spread far and wide - beyond the students, beyond the castle walls and it wasn't long before the tale took on a life of its own. Rumors, exaggerated versions, and outright lies surfaced with each retelling of the story by those not exactly in the know. Anyone else might have found it downright infuriating, but not Harry; he was used to it by now.

Having been summoned by Dumbledore, Harry made his way along the seventh-floor corridor to the newly reinstated Headmaster's office. He halted before the single gargoyle that stood against the wall.

"Canary Cream," said Harry, and the gargoyle jumped aside.

The spiral stone staircase revealed itself and Harry rode it to the top. He came to rest in front of the gleaming wood door and saw the reflection of his own image staring back at him in the familiar brass knocker that hung upon it. Harry knocked.

"Come in," Dumbledore replied.

He entered, and an immediate sense of comfort washed over Harry. The room looked exactly as he remembered. Fragile instruments, the color of mercury, shimmered and sat upon their designated tabletops, the likes of which, Harry often thought, looked much too heavy to be supported by such frail wooden legs. He made his way across the room, and passing the cabinet near the door, Harry noticed the familiar site of the Pensieve. It sat upon one of the shelves like an old, worn out version of a favorite book that Harry had lost himself in one too many times. He couldn't help but feel an odd sort of affection for it now. Harry smiled fondly at it and approached Dumbledore's desk. The portraits of all the old Headmasters and Headmistresses around the room were awake and quite animated. Harry could tell by their expressions that they were pleased to have Dumbledore back in what they all considered to be his rightful position, and Harry noticed that the frame that had once contained Dumbledore himself, now hung empty.

"Ah, Harry I trust you are feeling much better?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, sir, I am. Thank you." Harry replied, still smiling.

"Please," Dumbledore offered, indicating the seat in front of his desk.

Harry sat and noticed the phoenix named Fawkes sitting on its perch just to his right. The bird nestled against its own wing.

"So you're staying on then?" Harry inquired, drawing his eyes back towards the Headmaster.

"Quite," answered Dumbledore. "Once word spread of my _awakening_, it was only a matter of time before I was approached about resuming my duties as Headmaster."

"And Professor McGongall?" Harry asked.

"Ah, Minerva was all too willing, I assure you, to step down," replied Dumbledore. "I daresay this last year has been most difficult on her. But nonetheless, she will remain Head of Gryffindor House and continue to teach Transfiguration."

Harry gave a nod of agreement at what seemed like the best solution for everyone. The conversation died down, leaving an almost uncomfortable quietness between them, and although Harry felt the careful gaze of Dumbledore's eyes still upon him, his own eyes wandered. Harry had so many questions. So much that he wanted to ask.  
But where to begin?

"Sir…" Harry started and he searched for just the right words. His eyes met Dumbledore's. "How is it that I'm alive? I mean…I inflicted the Killing Curse on myself," he added, rushing through his words now as he tried to make sense of it all. "There's supposed to be no coming back from something like that! By all accounts, I should be dead…but I'm not. Instead, I'm here…alive and well. How is that even possible?"

Dumbledore drew in a deep breath and reflected for a moment upon the weight of Harry's question.

"I suspect," replied the Headmaster, "that it was the culmination of two very separate, yet powerful elements. One, which resides within you," he rose, stepped around the desk, and strode over to the phoenix. "And the other within your wand."

Pausing for a moment to admire the bird's brilliant red and gold plumage, Dumbledore faced Harry and continued on.

"As I have said on numerous occasions, your ability to love is perhaps your greatest strength. In essence," cited Dumbledore, "it has allowed you to put the welfare of others before your own, and in destroying Lord Voldemort that love propelled you, Harry, to make the greatest sacrifice of all…your life for theirs. But, it was the phoenix tail residing within the core of your wand that I believe brought you back."

Dumbledore's words registered slowly in Harry's mind, and almost mechanically, Harry felt for his wand. His fingers closed around its smooth, wooden base, and withdrawing it from his pocket, Harry gazed down at it now lying in his hand.

"The phoenix is perhaps the most magical and eternal of all creatures," noted Dumbledore and he sat. "As you know, it possesses tears of healing and is capable of withstanding even the heaviest of burdens…and, it can live for centuries," added the Headmaster "dying only to be reborn again from its own ashes. That, in a sense, is what I believe happened to you."

"But, Professor," replied Harry, "Voldemort's wand contained the same, so wouldn't it stand to reason that the core of his wand should have saved him as well?"

"In theory, yes" responded Dumbledore. "But Harry, you must remember that no matter how similar the two of you may have been, it was your choices that separated you. Lord Voldemort chose to take his exceptional skills and abilities and use them to perform the most atrocious acts that in the end were beneficial only to himself. You, on the other hand," added the Headmaster, "have been nothing but loyal to those surrounding you…which is perhaps the most important characteristic that a phoenix values. Therefore, it is no wonder to me that when you willingly sacrificed yourself to destroy Lord Voldemort, it was your wand that protected you the most."

Harry rose to his feet and looking down at his wand, placed it again at his side. Crossing the room, he stood before Fawkes. The bird lifted his head and looked directly at Harry as if he truly understood the unspoken gratitude just behind the young wizard's eyes. Reaching out, Harry gently brushed the bird's feathers with the back of his fingers. The phoenix burrowed against the warmth of his hand.

A dismal expression crossed over Harry's face.

"Why so sullen, Harry?" Dumbledore asked from behind his desk.

"I was just thinking about Voldemort's wand," Harry replied. He faced the Headmaster. "I mean, it's a bit ironic, don't you think, that after all that he went through to obtain immortality, what Voldemort desired most was perhaps the one thing he had at his fingertips the entire time…to a certain extent, anyway."

"And yet, nonetheless it was an error in judgment that anyone of us could have made," responded Dumbledore. "Especially, when we allow ourselves to pay more attention to what it is we think we want, than to what it is we actually have…an unfortunate mistake that I daresay, is rarely realized by most until it is too late."

Harry gazed at Dumbledore and his eyes acknowledged the wisdom behind the Headmaster's words.

"Sir…" Harry asked delicately, "do you know how I became a Horcrux?"

"I believe I may," replied Dumbledore.

Harry crossed the room. He sat before the Headmaster with blatant expectation in his eyes.

"As you know, I have long held the belief that Lord Voldemort entered your parent's home that night with one Horcrux yet to be cast," the Headmaster began, "and that he did so with the intention of creating it with your death."

Harry nodded, calling to mind their previous discussion.

"I have since come to believe that your mother's sacrifice that night caused two things to occur," continued Dumbledore. "First and foremost, it provided you with a protective shield that, when cast, caused the Killing Curse to rebound upon Voldemort. And secondly, that the unexpected murder of your mother was a brutal enough act on Voldemort's part to warrant that his soul rip from its last remaining piece. That piece then slipped into his wand, where it waited to be cast as the final Horcrux."

"But, it never made it into that object," added Harry and he quickly thought it through, "because the Killing Curse rebounded on Voldemort before he could cast it."

"Yes," responded Dumbledore, "that is what I believe happened."

"But, Professor…" noted Harry, "surely Voldemort knew that his soul was being torn apart."

"Not necessarily," replied the Headmaster. "I suspect that a body possessing a severed soul does not feel as you and I do, Harry. Not to mention the fact, that Voldemort clearly underestimated the significance of your mother's love for you...why then, are we expected to believe that he would have recognized the significance of her death?"

"But none of this explains _how _I became the final Horcrux?" Harry added impatiently. "I mean, both of my parents were dead and Voldemort had vanished. I was the only one left…so how did the piece sitting in his wand, find its way into me?"

Dumbledore surveyed Harry for a moment over his half-moon spectacles and continued on.

"While you may have been the only one left, Harry…" noted Dumbledore, "you were by no means alone. There was another in the house that night…someone your parent's trusted," he added, acknowledging the puzzled expression upon Harry's face. "…so implicitly, in fact, that they made him Secret-Keeper."

"Pettigrew!" Harry spouted and a nasty taste rose into the back of his throat.

Dumbledore nodded.

"After telling Lord Voldemort where to find your parents," stated the Headmaster, "Peter went to their home – perhaps, out of genuine remorse for what he had done, or to merely satisfy his own morbid curiosity – something, I am afraid, we may never know. But, by the time he arrived, your parents had already been murdered and Voldemort had vanished."

Harry rose to his feet and hearing Dumbledore's words, robotically made his way to the tower window. He rested his hands upon the sill. Harry closed his eyes and a flash of familiarity streaked across his memory. The unmistakable features of Peter Pettigrew punctuated his thoughts, and Harry saw the man quite clearly now in his head:

_He stood at Harry's crib side, peering over the railing at him with his parasitic, beady, little eyes. A ghastly combination of horror and amazement was frozen upon his face and his mouth, having fallen open, revealed a sizable set of teeth that were beginning to yellow. Pettigrew's eyes widened, and shifting them alarmingly from left to right, quickly turned his head towards the door. He listened for something Harry could not hear. Drawing his sights back towards the crib, Pettigrew halted and fixated his eyes upon the floor. His nose twitched in what Harry considered now to be in a very rat-like way, and bending his stout frame momentarily out of sight, returned to the crib side holding a wand. Pettigrew caressed it, allowing his stubby fingers to stroke its intricate wooden detail in a mesmerizing fashion. He perused it affectionately, unaware of its tip, that tilted precariously towards Harry. With the roar of an engine, Pettigrew was jolted from his reverie, sparking another flash of light. _

Harry cringed at the burning sensation that he somehow already knew would follow. He raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed his scar. Harry opened his eyes. He stared blankly out across the school grounds, unaware of neither the clear blue sky above, nor the blinding sunlight that now streamed across his fingertips, warming them. The memory was so clear and although he had never seen it before, Harry knew that it had always been there just waiting for the right moment to emerge.

"Peter found you in the nursery..." Dumbledore added, "where he also stumbled upon Lord Voldemort's wand. But before he could piece together what had happened, he heard Sirius' motorcycle…and in his haste to flee, he inadvertently discharged the last one-seventh of Voldemort's soul into you - a detail that, I am sure, he neither understood, nor ever planned on sharing with anyone."

"And so he left," said Harry, at a loss for words.

"Yes…narrowly escaping through the back door, just as Sirius entered through the front," elaborated the Headmaster. "Sirius then, of course, found you and your parents…and a short while later, Hagrid arrived with orders to bring you directly to me."

"Which he did," recalled Harry, "on the motorcycle that Sirius lent him."

"And once you were safely in the air…" added Dumbledore, "Sirius buried Lily and James."

Harry swallowed hard at the sound of Dumbledore's words and tried to stifle the picture in his head of Sirius burying his parents, beneath the moonlight. It must have been sheer agony, thought Harry, and he wondered how his godfather ever mustered the strength to get through it.

"Only recently, was I in a position to perform Legilmency upon Peter, to determine the true events of that night," Dumbledore responded, already anticipating Harry's next question.

"And do you suppose Voldemort did the same?" asked Harry, and he lethargically took his seat again. "I mean…is that how he knew that _I _was the final Horcrux?"

"I imagine he sensed, at some point, that Peter was hiding something from him," answered Dumbledore. "But I am sure he knew immediately that something was amiss the night he murdered Frank Bryce and was then unsuccessful in casting Nagini as his last Horcrux. Perhaps, he even caught a glimpse of something familiar inside of you," added the Headmaster, "the night he possessed you at the Ministry of Magic."

"But you also told me that Voldemort found out that night that he couldn't possess me without suffering mortal agony," noted Harry. "So, why then was he able to do so in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Because by then, Harry," responded Dumbledore, "all of the other Horcruxes had been destroyed. At that point there was so little left of Voldemort's soul that I doubt he felt much of anything by the time he took possession of you again in the forest."

Rising to his feet, Dumbledore again stepped out from behind his desk and stood before Harry, who glimpsed at the Pensieve sitting on the shelf behind them.

"…for neither can live while the other survives," Harry repeated the words of the lost prophecy under his breath. "It didn't mean what we thought, did it Professor?" and he eyed Dumbledore again. "It wasn't about us killing one another at all."

"No, Harry," replied the Headmaster. "I suspect now that it had more to do with your inability to live as one. For you to survive in that state would have required you to have allowed your soul to die," added Dumbledore. "Just as for Lord Voldemort to sustain any type of meaningful existence would have required him to split your soul just as he had done to his own. An option, that I am sure, he expected to be much more preferable to you than death."

"But it wasn't," Harry adamantly replied and he sprung to his feet. "The thought of it only made me want to fight back even more!"

"And why do you think that was?" Dumbledore asked and he allowed Harry to reflect for a moment upon his question. "Because, Harry, where Voldemort places his faith in objects – such as he did with the Horcruxes –_ you value life. _It wasn't Voldemort's quest for immortality that drove him," added the Headmaster, "it was his fear of death. To Lord Voldemort there is no worse fate…which is precisely why he never expected you to so willingly choose it. It was perhaps the most serious miscalculation he could have made."

"And yet in the end," responded Harry, "he died anyway."

"If he ever really lived at all," Dumbledore mused. He placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye. "You see Harry, oftentimes, the fear of death can place far greater constraints upon us than the actual act itself. To dwell upon it, as Lord Voldemort did, can only keep one from truly living."

An air of understanding hung between them. The Headmaster's words lingered heavily in Harry's mind. He knew that they applied as much to his own life as they did to Voldemort's and although it was true that Harry had never feared death outright, the death of his parents had always consumed him. _How many times _marveled Harry, _have I thought about them…wondered what my life would have been like had they lived? _No detail was too mundane to imagine. _Was my mum as good a cook as Mrs. Weasley? Would we have had a pet, and if so, what kind? Would I have had siblings? _Questions like these wandered incessantly through Harry's mind. He had allowed hours of his life – no matter how good it was at the time – to merely slip away thinking about them, in lieu of actually living his life.

Harry gazed at Dumbledore and the expression upon the Headmaster's face kindly revealed that he knew Harry had taken his words to heart. With a reassuring pat, Dumbledore released his grip and Harry watched as the Headmaster removed his worn and withered hand from his shoulder.

"Sir…your hand," Harry spoke up in disbelief. He stared at the appendage that had once been nothing more than a charred remain. "It's completely healed!"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied and he flexed the limb in question about freely. "It is truly amazing what a little rest will do for the body. In conjunction, of course," he added, "with one of Severus' many potions. I only wish that I had had the opportunity to thank him." 

Harry cringed at the mere mention of Professor Snape's name. It was a name that brought with it a flood of memories that Harry would just as soon forget, but somehow knew he never would._ I hated the man, _thought Harry, but perhaps what he hated more was the way Dumbledore always spoke so kindly of him.

"You mean the same man," Harry asked bitingly, and he clenched his fists, "who didn't think twice about inflicting the Killing Curse upon you when the opportunity finally presented itself? Or have you forgotten that?" he added, with an undeniable fire in his eyes. "Because I can assure you…I haven't."

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a saddened and weary voice. "There are many things that I regret, but none more than making you witness what took place that night."

"Do you even know how helpless I felt?" Harry asked sorrowfully. "Hidden there beneath my cloak, unable to move, to speak…to help you."

The last of his words trailed off and met the lump in his throat that Harry tried to suppress with the onset of his tears.

"And it is for that very reason," Dumbledore replied, his own eyes now glistening, "that I could not risk having you act by your own volition. To allow you to do so would have put you in grave danger," he added. "Had it not been for Professor Snape…"

"Had it not been for Professor Snape," Harry abruptly cut in, "you wouldn't have been as weak as you were that night and might actually have had a chance to defend yourself! It was Snape," added Harry brusquely, "who created the basin that we found in the cave that night, and it was Snape who made the liquid you drank from it! Or did he conveniently forget to mention that?"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore calmly replied, "I was quite aware of the role Severus played, Harry, in regards to the basin and the liquid contained therein."

Harry felt his mouth fall open in disbelief.

"And as I was saying," added Dumbledore, "had it not been for Professor Snape, I would most assuredly be dead. Yes, Harry, Severus did create the basin and likewise the liquid within it. Both of which he confided in me quite freely."

"Well if he was so forthcoming," Harry quickly noted, "then why didn't he spare you the trouble by simply telling you that the locket at the bottom of the basin was a fake?"

Dumbledore quickly opened his mouth to reply and thinking better of it, closed it again. Harry could tell by the expression upon the Headmaster's face that he was trying his patience and although Harry knew that under normal circumstances he might have cared about this, at the moment he simply did not.

"Because, Harry," Dumbledore replied with restraint, "he did not know about the locket. As you are well aware, Voldemort confided his knowledge about the Horcruxes to no one…not even Severus."

"That still doesn't excuse what Snape did," said Harry. "He may have been upfront with you about the basin, but that didn't stop him from allowing you to weaken yourself by drinking from it…something I'm sure he knew would only make it that much easier on himself when the time came to raise his wand to you!"

"While it is true that Severus, as you say, took advantage of my weakened state," replied the Headmaster, "it was imperative Harry that I first drink from the basin before being inflicted with the Killing Curse. It was the liquid that ultimately sustained me. You see," added Dumbledore "that liquid – although weakening me considerably – created within me a very powerful buffer between that of life and death. By ingesting it first, it allowed my body to negate any lasting affects that such an infliction would have normally caused. It literally saved my life."

"But what kind of potion would be strong enough to cancel out something as final as the Killing Curse?" Harry asked in an incredulous tone.

"The answer to that question was given to you, Harry," answered the Headmaster, "in your very first Potions class with Professor Snape."

Gathering his robe, Dumbledore drew up his chair and took his seat again. He rested his chin upon his folded hands and reflected in silence as the late morning sun drifted across the room.

Harry's mind raced back to the events of that day. He and Ron had made their way down into the cold, creepy dungeon for class and Harry recalled the way Snape had looked at him with those same empty, black eyes that he had since come to know so well. Harry felt his face flush with anger at how the Professor had singled him out, rifling questions at him for no other reason than to publicly humiliate Harry when he was then unable to give the correct answers.

Funny thing is, thought Harry, had Snape asked those same questions of him now, he would have been able to answer them, for he had come into direct contact with most of them throughout his years at Hogwarts. The bezoar, a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, had indeed saved Ron's life after being poisoned – just as Snape had said it would. And Harry had learned all about monkshood and wolfsbane from Remus Lupin, who oftentimes took a potion that included this plant in order to prevent himself from becoming a werewolf.

_And then there was…_

Harry looked at Dumbledore.

"Asphodel and wormwood," answered the Headmaster, as though he had clearly read Harry's mind, "when combined make a most powerful sleeping potion. So powerful in fact," added the Headmaster and he lowered his hands, "that it is often known as the…"

"Draught of the Living Death!" Harry spoke up, finishing Dumbledore's thought with a renewed sense of understanding.

"Yes," confirmed Dumbledore, "allowing me to take on the _appearance_ of death while simply casting me into a most peaceful slumber from which I knew I would eventually awaken. It was a process that Severus and I had been working on to perfect for a very long time. However," added the Headmaster and he met Harry's eyes, "having said that, it is not without its faults – for to ingest too much, can cast a person, as the Muggles would say, into a coma-like state and too little, can leave a soul wavering between the world of the living and of the dead. But perhaps the most important detail to consider is time itself. You see, Harry," continued Dumbledore, "there is a very short window of time available to the person between ingesting the liquid and the actual casting of the curse. If not done in proper measure, the desired outcome cannot be achieved."

"That's why you were so adamant about having me find Snape when we returned from the cave, wasn't it?" asked Harry. "Because you knew he would recognize the fact that you had ingested the potion and inflict the Killing Curse on you before it wore off."

"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "And when it became apparent that Mr. Malfoy was not up to the task, Severus stepped in."

"But why?" asked Harry. "Why was it even necessary for you to fake your own death?"

"Because it was of the utmost importance at that time," responded Dumbledore, "for Voldemort and his followers to believe that they had truly succeeded the night that the Death Eaters gained access into Hogwarts. Not to mention the fact," he added, "that Severus' role in my death would solidify his status as a double agent, leaving very little room for anyone to question his loyalty to Lord Voldemort."

Harry took a deep breath and lowered himself into the chair opposite Dumbledore.

"I think it would be quite fair to say then," added the Headmaster, "that Professor Snape was not nearly the monster everyone thought he was. After all, Harry, he gave his life for our side."

Harry felt a twinge of shame, for he knew that he had been one of the many who had often misjudged the man. _No matter how justifiable it seemed at the time, _he thought now.

"Voldemort told me that Snape was in love with my mother," Harry whispered. He looked at the floor. "Was that true?"

"It was," Dumbledore replied. "I must say that Severus was most aggrieved when he learned of Lily's death. It was shortly thereafter that he made the conscious decision to desert Lord Voldemort."

"So my mother was the reason you trusted him," surmised Harry in the smallest of voices.

"Yes, that was what prompted my trust," answered the Headmaster. "For as you know Harry," added Dumbledore, and he once again met the boy's eyes, "one cannot be touched by that kind of love and not be changed by it."

Dumbledore gave Harry a moment to digest his words.

"Which brings me to the other reason that I asked you here today," added the Headmaster and the tone of his voice prompted Harry to sit a bit more at attention in his chair. "Given all that has transpired over the last several months and the untimely demise of Professor Snape, I am afraid that I once again find myself without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I would like to offer the position to you."

"Me?" Harry replied. He was quite taken aback by the offer. "But sir, surely I'm not qualified."

"I think we can both agree that your firsthand experience on the subject more than qualifies you," answered Dumbledore, "and I daresay, you would be hard pressed to find anyone who would disagree."

_A teacher?_ Harry thought to himself. In all the time that he had attended Hogwarts he had never even entertained the notion of teaching there. _Well, _thought Harry, _except for that time when I taught the D.A. how to defend themselves behind Umbridge's back. _He had to admit that he enjoyed watching his fellow students learn to perform his lessons. And yet, whenever he thought about his future, Harry always saw himself more in the role of an Auror – a place that he was sure was more befitting of his talents.

"So what do you say, Harry," Dumbledore asked. "Will you take the position?" 

Harry gazed at the Headmaster, his answer already formulating upon his lips.

Footnotes:

"…for neither can live while the other survives," Page 841, The Order of the Phoenix

Draught of the Living Death reference based upon page 138, The Sorcerer's Stone


	9. Beneath the Tree

Harry made his way down the marble staircase, and resting his hand upon the creamy, smooth surface of the banister, reflected on the stone-walled surroundings he once called home. The torches, whose fiery glow had so often lit his way down the castle corridors, now hung extinguished on a nearby wall, awaiting dusk. The ceiling, to Harry's amazement, still appeared too high to be clearly seen – just as it did on his very first night at Hogwarts. Harry's eyes fell upon the giant oak doors that sat open against a radiant sky. He squinted slightly and soaked in the brilliant ray of sunlight that cascaded across the flagged stone entrance hall. A light summer's breeze flirted at the threshold. Harry spied the four hourglasses lining the wall to his right. They were filled with varying degrees of precious gemstones, mirroring the valiant efforts set forth by each house in protecting the school when it was under siege. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had each received a fair share, while not surprisingly, Slytherin had very few. None, however, was as full as Gryffindor's, whose ruby red stones were on the verge of nearly spilling over the top. Harry beamed with pride.

Just then, a couple of first years ran past him down the stairs. Their ties hung crookedly around their necks, and their robes, dangling loosely upon their modest frames, trailed clumsily at their feet. Turning the corner, they disappeared through the doors and out into the gleaming sunlight. _It seems like a lifetime ago, _thought Harry, recalling how he and his friends had so often done the same.

Harry stepped down from the staircase and reached the entrance to the Great Hall. He leaned against the doorway, crossed his arms and peered in at the long, empty row of wooden tables. That first night, Harry had never dreamed just what his years at Hogwarts would have in store for him. The friendship, the adventure, and the love he discovered were beyond anything he had ever wished for or imagined. Time had changed so many things in his life, and yet he found that if he stared hard enough now at the place where the stool and the Sorting Hat had sat that night, he could just make out the faint image of a boy from Privet Drive begging not to go to Slytherin.

Harry smiled fondly to himself, turned and made his way out onto the grounds. He stood beneath an endless, cerulean sky and felt the sunlight embrace him. Basking in its warmth, Harry inhaled deeply. The scent of lilac and freshly cut grass filled the air. In the distance, he heard the gleeful sound of laughter from his fellow students, all of whom were enjoying their down-time between the traditional end of year feast and the train ride home. It was perhaps one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard, thought Harry. He crossed the lawn towards the familiar beech tree that he and his friends had often lounged under on days like these. Although he would always treasure his time at Hogwarts, Harry knew that it was the future that he was looking forward to the most.

"Harry!" Ginny cried out. She sprang up from her place beneath the tree to greet him.

"There you are," Hermione chimed in, with Ron not far behind.

"We went up to the hospital wing to see you," added his best friend, "but Madam Pomfrey said you were released."

"Yeah, I went to see Dumbledore," Harry replied, and his friends gathered around him.

"That's what we figured," responded Ron.

"So," Hermione spoke up. She gazed hesitantly at Harry. "Did he answer all of your  
questions?"

Harry nodded, and taking a seat with them beneath the tree, he recounted the details of his discussion with the Headmaster. Resting against the gnarled remains of the trunk, he shared with them how he was able to survive the Killing Curse, the role his own wand played, and the true meaning behind the lost prophecy. He spoke about the unforeseen factors that had contributed to the Headmaster's death and resurrection. Harry mentioned Professor Snape with a touch of humility in his voice. He surveyed his friends closely. The same look of shame that had once adorned his own face crept onto theirs. Harry drew comfort in the fact that he was not alone in his realization of just how wrong he had been about the man. He rose to his feet.

"And then," Harry added, staring thoughtfully out across the lake, "Dumbledore offered me the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"And what did you say?" asked Ron, and he exchanged a knowing look with Hermione that Harry didn't see.

Harry paused. He turned and faced his friends.

"I said…yes."

"I told you so!" Hermione boasted, looking at Ron whom she smacked hard on the shoulder with the back of her hand. Ron winced, rubbing his arm.

"Hang on…" Harry responded confoundedly. "You knew? But how?"

"Because Dumbledore offered Ron and I positions as well," Hermione replied. A triumphant smile spread across her face.

"You're not serious?" Harry answered jokingly and waited for one of them to deliver the punch line that he was sure would follow.

"Oh, she's serious all right, mate," answered Ron. He rose to his feet along with the others. "Flitwick decided to retire so…meet Miss Granger," he added, waving his hand towards Hermione as though she were on display. "Hogwarts newest Charms teacher."

Hermione curtsied.

"And what about you?" Harry asked, pointing suspiciously towards Ron.

"Well, it appears," Hermione intervened, "that Hagrid is in need of an assistant."

"You're joking?" responded Harry and for a brief moment he tried to imagine Ron befriending a creature the likes of Aragog.

"No…" answered Ron, "but Dumbledore has assured me that it's only a temporary assignment. Y'know, until something more in line with my talents opens up." He puffed his chest slightly.

"You mean, like Filch's job?" taunted Ginny.

"Ha ha, very funny!" snapped Ron and the rest of them rolled with laughter. "No, I was thinking something more like..._ flying instructor," _he added grasping the front of his shirt and sticking his chin up in the air in a very distinguished manner, the likes of which only made the three of them laugh all the more.

"Yeah well, that's one way to avoid _certain _creatures living in the Forbidden Forest," Hermione teased and Harry knew by her words, that she shared the same sentiment on Ron's position as he.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, his ego obviously bruised.

"It's just…well, y'know," she replied delicately. "It's no secret Ron, how you feel about spiders."

"Spiders?" he mocked unconvincingly, "I just helped to defeat the darkest wizard of our time! I'm not about to allow a few…tiny…hairy…disgusting…spiders to bother me." Ron blanched and a sour shade of green crept over his face. He looked as though he were going to be quite sick.

Stifling their laughter, Harry grinned at Hermione. She took Ron kindly by the hand and sat with him beneath the tree. Harry glimpsed at Ginny and caught her eye. She too smiled, but in an affectionate sort of way, that Harry noticed seemed to linger only between them. She stood before him wearing a hint of shimmering pink lip gloss, and her long, red hair, with its sides drawn loosely behind her ears, draped carelessly over her shoulders. She was absolutely breathtaking, thought Harry and he committed to memory every feature he had already come to know by heart. They gazed intimately at one another, and slipping her hand into his, Ginny pulled him aside.

"You do realize, don't you," she said, "that now that Voldemort is no longer a threat…we can be together. I mean, that is" Ginny added, setting her jaw sternly. She looked him squarely in the eyes, "if you still _want _to be with me."

It was quite clear to Harry, from the expression upon her face that Ginny was bravely trying to steel herself against the possibility of being disappointed by his answer. If he had been any other guy, Harry might have bought her act; but he knew her well enough to know that beneath that confident façade lay the heart of a woman wanting nothing more than to be loved. _The hint of trepidation just behind her eyes and the way she hesitantly bites her lower lip always gives her away. _

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he replied, and leaning in, felt the fullness of her lips upon his.

Her hand snaked across his chest and rested on the back of his neck. Harry felt a slight shiver run down the middle of his spine. It met the fingertips of Ginny's opposite hand that now lay gently upon the small of his back. He brushed his lips against the smoothness of her cheek and caressed her face with the palm of his hand. His other hand tightened upon her waist. Immersed in the flowery scent that was Ginny, Harry embraced her.

"Of course y'know," he whispered playfully in her ear, "this is a huge conflict of interest…me being a teacher and you a student, I mean."

"Only for one more year," she mused. Ginny rested her forehead against his. "And at least, we'll get to see each other everyday."

"Hmmm, I don't know" Harry teased. He wrapped his arms around her waist. "It may be frowned upon by the others and…well, y'know I do have a reputation to uphold…as a teacher and all."

"Y'know, you just may be right," Ginny replied, with a sly look in her eyes. She slipped just out of reach. "Perhaps it _would _be better if we just parted ways now."

Harry watched her turn as though she were serious about walking away from him. Without hesitation, he quickly spun her back into his arms.

"Since when have I ever cared what other people think," he responded and kissed her hard upon the mouth.

An owl called out from somewhere overhead. Harry looked up and saw Hedwig sweep across the school grounds. Her long, white wings stretched out against a magnificent ceiling of blue, in which she circled as though she hadn't a care in the world. Harry thought he knew exactly how the bird felt. He held Ginny closely in his arms and watched his friends frolic with one another in the warmth of the sun. For the first time in his life, Harry knew what it meant to have a real family and a home.

THE END

A huge thank you to my beta, Ravensgryff, who taught me the art of streamlining, the value of eliminating pesky tenses, and the importance of Zen. And to Andrew, for reawakening in me the love of writing.


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